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MAIN 


'.H 


UC-NRLF 


B    E    flMM 


THE  EXPERIENCE 


OF 


THOMAS  H.  JONES, 


WHO    WAS 


SLA.VE 

\ 

FOR    FORTY-THREE    YEARS 


WRITTEN  BY  A  FRIEND, 


AS    GIVEN    TO    HIM    BY    BROTHER   JONES. 


AFRO-AMERICAN  HISTORY  SERIES 
EDITOR:  MAXWELL  WHITEMAN 
RHISTORIC  PUBLICATION  NO.   224 


C  jRhistoric  Publications,  Phila.,  Pa.  19107 
Library  of  Congress  Catalog  Card  No. 

75-77061 


THOMAS  H.  JONES 
A  North  Carolina  Fugitive 

A  bibliographical  note 
Maxwell  White  man 

Among  the  minor  slave  narratives  that  of  Thomas  H.  Jones  of  North 
Carolina  contains  a  moving  description  of  a  slave  boy's  determination 
to  learn  how  to  read  and  write  in  a  society  where  literacy  among  slaves 
was  not  encouraged.  At  the  cost  of  numerous  betrayals  and  frequent 
whippings,  Jones  struggled  to  learn  the  alphabet  over  a  period  of  months. 
In  further  defiance  of  his  master  Jones  also  found  his  way  to  Christianity 
where  the  teaching  and  preaching  of  the  Gospel  to  blacks  was  looked 
upon  with  disdain.  But  the  lash  of  his  Christian  master  was  not  cutting 
enough  to  prevent  Jones  from  attending  the  slaves'  secret  prayer  meet 
ing.  The  quest  for  Jesus  and  the  hunger  to  learn  could  not  be  controlled 
by  force.  For  the  slave  boy  there  was  no  magic  like  the  magic  of  a  book 
and  no  peace  like  the  peace  derived  from  Christian  prayer.  It  is  one  of 
the  great  inconsistencies  of  slave  life  that  blacks  frequently  sought 
Christian  solace,  unaware  that  their  masters  justified  slavery  on  the 
basis  of  Biblican  and  Christian  teaching. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  Jones  was  married  according  to  slave  custom. 
He  became  the  father  of  four  children  and  while  the  last  was  still  an 
infant  they  were  wrested  from  him  and  along  with  his  wife  sold  to 
another  master.  Four  years  later,  despairing  that  he  would  ever  see  his 
family  which  was  swallowed  by  the  plantation  South,  Jones  remarried. 

Living  in  dread  that  the  same  fate  would  meet  him  a  second  time,  Jones 
set  himself  to  the  task  of  saving  all  the  money  he  earned  when  he  was 
hired  out.  In  time  he  was  able  to  purchase  his  new  family's  freedom. 
This  had  to  be  done  secretly  and  when  the  time  was  propitious  the 
family  set  sail  for  New  York  by  way  of  Wilmington,  North  Carolina. 
Jones  also  set  aside  enough  money  to  purchase  a  small  cabin.  This  he 
entrusted  to  a  friendly  white  man  because  slaves  could  not  hold  prop 
erty.  He  had  hoped  that  the  funds  derived  from  the  sale  of  the  cabin 
would  enable  him  to  buy  his  own  freedom.  But  the  plan  was  thwarted 
by  betrayal.  Jones  had  one  choice  -  escape. 


G53 


Three  months  after  his  family  reached  New  York,  Jones  stowed  away 
on  a  vessel  bound  for  the  same  city.  He  was  detected  before  landing 
but  managed  to  safely  jump  the  vessel,  reach  Brooklyn  to  meet  his 
family  and  move  on  to  Connecticut.  He  finally  settled  with  his  family 
in  Worcester,  Massachusetts  where  his  narrative  was  written. 

The  unidentified  amanuensis  who  aided  Jones  lacked  the  style  or 
imagination  to  turn  Jones'  forthright  statements  into  a  meaningful  and 
readable  work.  The  intimate  picture  of  slave  life,  other  than  his  boy 
hood  days,  is  lacking.  Out  of  the  necessity  to  withhold  details  of  those 
who  aided  him,  much  of  interest  was  obviously  eliminated.  Although 
minor  by  comparison  to  the  great  narrative  literature  of  his  contem 
poraries,  many  areas  described  by  Jones  are  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

Sources:  Jones'  narrative  attracted  sufficient  attention  to  be  reprinted 
many  times.  Three  editions  are  listed  by  Dwight  L.  Dumond,  A 
BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANTISLAVERY  IN  AMERICA  (Ann  Arbor, 
Mich.,  1961),  70.  Sabin,  No.  36611,  lists  a  Springfield,  Mass.,  edition 
unknown  to  Dumond,  while  the  1849  edition  was  unknown  to  Sabin. 
M.  M.  Work,  A  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  NEGRO  IN  AFRICA  AND 
AMERICA  (New  York,  1928),  312  lists  later  editions.  This  copy,  which 
Jones  presented  to  William  Jenks,  is  part  of  the  Fahnestock  collection 
at  the  Historical  Society  of  Pennsylvania. 


THE  EXPERIENCE 


OF 


THOMAS  H.  JONES, 


WHO    WAS 


A. 


FOR    FORTY-THREE    YEARS. 


WK1TTEN  BY  A  FKIEND, 


AS  GIVEN  TO  HIM  BY  BROTHER  JONES. 


WORCESTER : 

PRINTED    BY    HENRY    J.    HOWLAND, 
No.  245  Main  Street. 

1857. 


TO  THE  FRIENDS  OF  SUFFERING  HUMANITY. 


The  undersigned  take  pleasure  in  certifying,  that  they  have 
formed  an  acquaintance  with  Brother  Thomas  Jones,  since  his 
escape  from  Slavery ;  having  seen  and  perused  his  letters,  and  his 
certificates  of  Church  relations,  and  made  all  suitable  enquiries, 
most  cordially  recommend  him  to  the  confidence  and  aid  of  all 
who  have  a  heart  to  sympathize  with  a  down-trodden  and  out 
raged  portion  of  the  great  brotherhood.  We  would  also  say,  that 
we  have  heard  Brother  Jones  lecture  before  our  respective  churches, 
and  we  only  speak  the  unanimous  sentiments  of  our  people,  when 
we  say,  that  his  narrative  is  one  of  thrilling  interest,  calculated  to 
secure  the  attention  of  any  audience,  and  to  benefit  the  sympathiz 
ing  hearts  of  all  who  will  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the 
present  condition  and  past  experience  of  this  true-hearted  brother, 

E.  A.  STOCKMAN, 
Pastor  of  the  Wesleyan  Church,  Boston, 

DANIEL  FOSTER, 

Pastor  of  the  Free  Evangelical  Church, 
North  Banvera,  Mass. 

To  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN  : — This  may  certify,  that  the  bearer, 
Thomas  Jones,  has  lectured  to  my  people;  with  good  success,  giving 
a  satisfaction  uncommon  to  one  deprived,  as  he  has  been,  of  moral 
or  mental  cultivation. 

I  can  cheerfully  recommend  him  to  all  such  as  may  be  inclined 
to  give  him  a  hearing  or  assistance  in  any  way,  in  confidence,  feel' 
ing  that  he  is  an  honest  and  upright  man. 

A.  B.  FLANDERS, 

Pastor  of  W.  M.  Church,  Exeter,  N,  H. 
Nov.  25, 1849. 


•II 


A  suffering  brother  would  affectionately  present  this  simpl 
htory  of  deep  personal  wrongs  to  the  earnest  friends  of  the  Slave. 
He  asks  you  to  buy  and  read  it,  for,  in  so  doing,  you  will  help  one 
who  needs  your  sympathy  and  aid,  and  you  will  receive,  in  the 
perusal  of  this  simple  narrative,  a  more  fervent  eonviction  of  the 
necessit  yand  blessedness  of  toiling  for  the  desolate  members  of 
the  one  great  brotherhood  who  now  suffer  and  die,  ignorant  and 
despairing,  in  the  vast  prison  land  of  the  South.  •'  Whatsoever 
ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  also  unto  them." 

THOMAS  II.  JONES. 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE. 


I  was  born  a  slave.  My  recollections  of  early  life 
are  associated  with  poverty,  suffering  and  shame.  I 
was  made  to  feel,  in  my  boyhood's  first  experience, 
that  I  was  inferior  and  degraded,  and  that  I  must  pass 
through  life  in  a  dependent  and  suffering  condition. 
The  experience  of  forty-three  years,  which  were  pass 
ed  by  me  in  slavery,  was  one  of  dark  fears  and  darker 
realities.  John  Hawes  was  my  first  master.  He  lived 
in  Hanover  County,  N.  C.,  between  the  Black  and 
South  Rivers,  and  was  the  owner  of  a  large  plantation, 
called  Hawes'  Plantation.  He  had  over  fifty  slaves. 
I  remained  with  my  parents  nine  years.  They  were 
both  slaves,  owned  by  John  Hawes.  They  bad  six 
children,  Richard,  Alexander,  Charles,  Sarah,  myself, 
and  John.  I  remember  well  that  dear  old  cabin,  with  its 
clay  floor  and  mud  chimney,  in  which,  for  nine  years,  I 
enjoyed  the  presence  and  love  of  my  wretched  parents. 

Father  and  mother  tried  to  make  it  a  happy  place 
for  their  dear  children.  They  worked  late  into  the 
night  many  and  many  a  time  to  get  a  little  simple  fur 
niture  for  their  home  and  the  home  of  their  children; 
and  they  spent  many  hours  of  willing  toil  to  stop  up 
the  chinks  between  the  logs  of  their  poor  hut,  that  they 
and  their  children  might  be  protected  from  the  storm 
and  the  cold.  I  can  testify,  from  my  own  painful  ex- 
perience,to  the  deep  and  fond  affection  which  the  slave 
cherishes  in  his  heart  for  his  home  and  its  dear  ones. 
We  have  no  other  tie  to  link  us  to  the  human  family, 
but  our  fervent  love  for  those  who  are  with  as  and  of 
us  in  relations  of  sympathy  and  devotednesa,  in  wrongs 
and  wretchedness.  My  dear  parents  were  conscious 
of  the  desperate  and  incurable  woe  of  their  position 
1* 


6  NARRATIVE    OF    A     UK  I-Tf.'KK    SLAVE. 

and  destiny  ;  and  of  the  lot  of  inevitable  suffering  in 
store  for  their  beloved  children.  They  talked  about 
our  coming  misery,  and  they  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
wept  aloud,  as  they  spoke  of  our  being  torn  from  them 
and  sold  off  to  the  dreaded  slave-trader,  perhaps  never 
again  to  see  them  or  hear  from  them  a  word  of  fond 
love.  I  have  heard  them  speak  of  their  willingness  to 
bear  their  own  sorrows  without  complaint,  if  only  we, 
their  dear  children,  could  be  safe  from  the  wretched 
ness  before  us.  And  I  remember,  and  now  fully  un 
derstand,  as  I  did  notthen,  the  sad  and  tearful  look 
they  would  fix  upon  us  when  we  were  gathered  round 
them  and  running  on  with  our  foolish  prattle.  I  am  a 
father,  and  I  have  had  the  same  feelings  of  unspeak 
able  anguish,  as  I  have  looked  upon  my  precious  babes, 
and  have  thought  of  the  ignorance,  degradation  and 
woe  which  they  must  endure  as  slaves.  The  great 
God,  who  knoweth  all  the  secrets  of  the  heart,  and 
He  only,  knows  the  bitter  sorrow  I  now  feel  when  I 
think  of  my  four  dear  children  who  are  slaves,  torn 
from  me  and  consigned  to  hopeless  servitude  by  the 
iron  hand  of  ruthless  wrong.  I  love  those  children  with 
all  a  father's  fondness.  God  gave  them  to  me  ;  but  my 
brother  took  them  from  me,  in  utter  scorn  of  a  father's 
earnest  pleadings  ;  and  I  never  shall  look  upon  them 
again,  till  I  meet  them  and  my  oppressors  at  the  final 
gathering.  Will  not  the  Great  Father  and  God  make 
them  and  me  reparation  in  the  final  award  of  mercy  to 
the  victim,  and  of  Justice  to  the  cruel  desolator? 

Mr.  Hawes  was  a  very  severe  and  cruel  master.  He 
kept  no  overseer,  but  managed  his  own  slaves  with  the 
help  of  Enoch,  his  oldest  son.  Once  a  year  he  distrib 
uted  clothing  to  his  slaves.  To  the  men  he  gave  one 
pair  of  shoes,  one  blanket,  one  hat,  and  five  yards  of 
coarse,  home-spun  cotton  ;  to  the  women  a  correspond 
ing  outfit,  and  enough  to  make  one  frock  for  each  of 
the  children.  The  slaves  were  obliged  to  make  up  their 
own  clothes,  after  the  severe  labor  of  the  plantation  had 
been  performed.  Any  other  clothing,  beyond  this 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.  / 

yearly  supply,  which  they  might  need,  the  slaves  were 
compelled  to  get  hy  extra  work,  or  do  without. 

The  supply  of  food  given  out  to  the  slaves,  was  one 
peck  of  corn  a  week,  or  some  equivalent,  and  nothing 
besides.  They  must  grind  their  own  corn,  after  the 
work  of  the  day  was  performed,  at  a  mill  which  stood 
on  the  plantation.  We  had  to  eat  our  coarse  oread 
without  meat,  or  butter,  or  milk.  Severe  labor  alone 
gave  us  an  appetite  for  our  scanty  and  unpalatable 
fare.  Many  of  the  slaves  were  so  hungry  after  their 
excessive  toil,  that  they  were  compelled  to  steal  food 
in  addition  to  this  allowance. 

During  the  planting  and  harvest  season,  we  had  to 
work  early  and  late.  The  men  and  women  were  called 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  were  worked  on 
the  plantation  till  it  was  dark  at  night.  After  that 
they  must  prepare  their  food  for  supper  and  for  the 
breakfast  of  the  next  day,  and  attend  to  other  duties 
of  their  own  dear  homes.  Parents  would  often  have 
to  work  for  their  children  at  home,  after  each  day's 
protracted  toil,  till  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  then 
snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep,  to  get  strength  for  the  heavy 
.burdens  of  the  next  day. 

In  the  month  of  November,  and  through  the  winter 
season,  the  men  and  women  worked  in  the  fields,  clear 
ing  up  new  land,  chopping  and  burning  bushes,  burn 
ing  tar  kilns,  and  digging  ditches.  They  worked  to 
gether,  poorly  clad,  and  suffering  from  the  bitter  cold 
and  wet  of  those  winter  months.  Women,  wives  and 
mothers,  daughters  and  sisters,  on  that  plantation,  were 
compelled  to  toil  on  cold,  stormy  days  in  the  open  field, 
while  the  piercing  wind  and  driving  storm  benumbed 
their  limbs,  and  almost  froze  the  tears  that  came  forth 
out  of  their  cold  and  desolate  hearts.  Little  boys,  and 
girls,  too,  worked  and  cried,  toting  brush  to  the  fires, 
husking  the  corn,  watching  the  stock,  and  running  on 
errands  for  master,  and  mistress,  and  their  three  sons, 
Enoch,  Edward  and  John,  and  constantly  receiving 
from  them  scoldings  and  beatings  as  their  reward. 


8  NAKU  YTl  V  I      ol      A     "i  i   •          i      ST  AVK. 

Thus  passed  ni no  V.M.Y,  *.;  mv  i.itV  :  years  of  suffer 
ing,  tli--  shiivMei  ing  n>"in,,i  v  ti!  -.>  inch  is  deeply  fixed 
in  my  h.-art.  Oh.  thai  ;he>o  happy,  merry  boys  and 
girls,  \vhon;  i  Lave  seen  in  Massachusetts  sinre  my 
escape  from  slavery,  whom  I  have  so  often  met  rejoic 
ing  in  their  mercies  siru-e  I  eame  here,  only  knew  the 
deep  wretchedness  of  the  poor  slave  child '.  For  then, 
I  am  sure,  their  tender  hearts  would  feel  to  love  and 
pray  for  these  unhappy  ones,  on  whose  early  life  hope 
less  sufferings  bear  down  a  crushing,  killing  burden  I 
These  nine  years  of  wrechedness  passed,  and  a  change 
came  for  me.  My  master  s<>ld  me  to  Mr.  .Jones,  of 
Wilmington,  N.C.,  distant  forty-live  mil  >s  from  IIa\ves' 
plantation.  Mr.  Jones  sent  his  slave  driver,  a  colored 
man  named  Abraham,  to  conduct  me  to  my  new  home 
in  Wilmington.  I  was  at  home  with  my  mother  when 
he  came,  lie  looked  in  at  the  door,  and  called  to  me, 
"  Tom,  you  must  go  with  me."  His  looks  were  ugly 
and  his  voice  was  savage.  1  was  very  much  afraid, 
and  began  to  cry,  holding  on  to  my  mother's  clothes, 
and  begging  her  to  protect  me.  and  not  let  the  man 
take  me  away.  Mother  wept  bitter!  v,  and  in  the  midst 
of  her  loud  sobbings,  cried  out  in  broken  words,  "I  can't 
save  you  Tommy  ;  master  has  sold  you,  you  must  go." 
She  threw  her  arms  around  me,  and  while  the  hot  tears 
fell  on  my  face,  she  strained  me  to  her  heart.  There 
she  held  me,  sobbing  and  mourning,  till  the  brutal 
Abraham  came  in,  snatched  me  away,  hurried  me  out 
of  the  house  where  I  was  born,  my  only  home,  and  tore 
me  away  from  the  dear  mother  who  loved  me  as  no 
other  friend  could  do.  She  followed  him,  imploring  a 
moment's  delay,  and  weeping  aloud,  to  the  road,  where 
he  turned  around,  and  striking  at  her  with  his  heavy 
cowhide,  fiercely  ordered  her  to  stop  bawling,  and  go 
back  into  the  house. 

Thus  was  I  snatched  from  the  presence  of  my  loving 
parents,  and  from  the  true  affection  of  the  dear  ones 
of  home.  For  thirteen  weary  years  did  my  heart  turn 
in  its  yearnings  for  that  precious  home.  And  then 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLATE.  9 

at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  was  I  permitted  to  revisit  my 
early  home.  I  found  it  all  desolate  ;  the  family  all 
broken  up  ;  father  was  sold  and  gone  ;  Richard,  Alex 
ander,  Charles,  Sarah,  and  John  were  sold  and  gone. 
Mother  prematurely  old,  heartbroken,  utterly  desolate, 
weak  and  dying,  alone  remained.  I  saw  her,  and  wept 
once  more  on  her  bosom.  I  went  back  to  roy  chains 
with  a  deeper  woe  in  my  heart  than  I  had  ever  felt  be 
fore.  There  was  but  one  thought  of  joy  in  my  wretched 
consciousness,  and  that  was,  that  my  kind  and  precious 
mother  would  soon  be  at  rest  in  the  grave.  And  then, 
too,  I  remember,  I  mused  with  deep  earnestness  on 
death,  as  the  only  friend  the  poor  slave  had.  And  I 
wished  that  I  too  might  lie  down  by  my  mother's  side, 
and  die  with  her  in  her  loving  embrace. 

I  should  have  related,  that  one  of  the  earliest  scenes 
of  painful  memory  associated  with  my  opening  years  of 
suffering  is  connected  with  a  severe  whipping  which  my 
master  inflicted  on  my  sister  Sarah.  He  tied  her  up, 
having  compelled  her  to  strip  herself  entirely  naked,  in 
the  smoke-house,  and  gave  her  a  terrible  whipping — at 
least  so  it  seemed  to  my  young  heart,  as  I  heard  her 
scream,  and  stood  by  my  mother,  who  was  wringing  her 
hands  in  an  agony  of  grief,  at  the  cruelties  which  her 
tender  child  was  enduring.  I  do  not  know  what  my 
sister  had  done  for  which  she  was  then  whipped  :  but  I 
remember  that  her  body  was  marked  and  scarred  for 
weeks  after  that  terrible  scourging,  and  that  our  parents 
always  after  seemed  to  hold  their  breath  when  they  spoke 
of  it.  Sarah  was  the  last  of  the  family  who  was  sold  ; 
and  my  poor  mother  never  looked  up  after  this  final  act 
of  cruelty  was  accomplished.  I  think  of  my  only  sister 
now  ;  and  often  try  to  imagine  where  she  is,  and  how  she 
fares  in  this  cruel  land  of  slavery.  And,  oh,  my  God, 
how  dark  and  wretched  are  these  pictures !  Can  I  think 
of  that  poor  sister  without  a  sorrow  too  great  for  utter 
ance  ?  Ah  me  !  how  can  the  generous,  loving  brother 
or  sister,  blessed  with  freedom,  forget  the  cruel  sorrows 
and  wrongs  of  the  slave  brother  and  sister  ?  How  fel- 


10  NARRATIVE    OF     A.     lU.fTr.EE    SLAVE. 

lowship,  even  in  the  least  act  of  comity,  the  atrocious 
slave-holder?  There  may  bo  some  who  do  this  from 
ignorance  of  such  cruel  wrongs.  God  grant  that  this 
simple  story  may  enlighten  some  who  only  need  to  know 
our  deep  necessities,  to  give  us  their  willing  sympathy 
and  aid  and  love. 

My  journey  to  Wilmington  with  the  heartless  Abra 
ham  was  a  very  sad  one.     We  walked  all  the  way.     I 
was  {.fraid  of  my  savage  companion  ;  and  yet  my  heart 
felt  :o  desolate,  and  my  longings  for  sympathy  so  in 
tense,  that  I  was  impelled  to  turn  to  my  cruel  guide  for 
relief.   He  was  striding  along  in  stern  gloom  and  silence 
too  fast  for  my  young  feet  to  keep  pace  ;  and  I  began 
to  feel  that  I  munt  stop  and  rest.     It  was  bitter  cold, 
too,  and  I  was  poorly  clad  to  bear  the  keen  air  of  a  Jan- 
nary  day.      My  limbs  were  weary  with  travel,  and  stiff 
with  cold.     I  could  not  go  on  at  the  rate  I  had  done, 
and  so  I  turned  to  my  guide  and  begged  him  to  take  me 
into  some  hut  and  let  me  rest  and  get  warm.     He  cursed 
me,  and  told  me  to  keep  silence  and  come  along,  or  he 
would  warm  me  with  a  cowhide.     Oh,  I  thought  how 
cruel  and  hopeless  my  lot !     Would  that  I  could  fall 
down    here  and  die.     And  I  did  fall  down.     We  had 
just  passed  through  a  soft,  wet  place,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  frozen.     And  I  fell  down  on  my  dark, 
cold  way,  unable  to  proceed.     I  was  then  carried  into  a 
slave's  cabin,  and  allowed  to  warm  and  rest.     It  was 
nearly  midnight  when  I  arrived,  with  my  conductor,  at 
my  place  of  exile  and  suffering.    And  certainly  no  heart 
could  be  more  entirely  wretched  than  I  was  when  1 
threw  my  weary,  aching  body  on  my  cold,  hard  bed. 

The  next  morning  I  was  called  into  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Jones,  my  new  master,  and  my  work  was  assigned 
to  me.  I  was  to  take  care  of  the  old  gray  horse,  kept 
for  the  use  of  the  family  when  they  wished  to  ride  out, 
to  fetch  water  from  the  spring  to  the  house,  to  go  on 
errands  to  my  master's  store,  to  clean  the  boots  and 
shoes  belonging  to  the  white  members  of  the  family, and 
to  the  white  visiters,  to  sweep  the  rooms,  and  to  bring 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  11 

wood  from  the  wharf  on  my  head  for  the  fires  at  the 
house  and  store.  From  the  first  dawn  of  day  till  ten 
and  eleven,  and  sometimes  twelve  at  night,  I  could 
hardly  find  one  moment's  time  for  rest.  And,  oh,  how 
the  memory  of  that  year  of  constant  toil  and  weariness 
is  imprinted  on  my  heart,  an  impression  of  appalling 
sorrow.  My  dreams  are  still  haunted  with  the  agony  of 
that  year.  I  had  just  been  torn  from  my  home  ;  my 
yearning  heart  was  deprived  of  the  sweet  sympathy  of 
those  to  whose  memory  I  then  clung,  and  to  whom  my 
heart  still  turns  with  irrepressible  andunutterable  long 
ings.  I  was  torn  from  them  and  put  into  a  circle  of 
cold,  selfish  and  cruel  hearts,  and  put  then  to  perform 
labors  too  great  for  my  young  strength.  And  yet  I 
lived  through  that  year,  just  as  the  slave  lives  on 
through  weary  years  of  suffering,  on  which  no  ray  of 
light  shines,  save  that  which  hope  of  a  better,  happier 
future  gives  even  to  the  desolate  bondman.  I  lived 
through  it,  with  all  its  darkness  and  sorrow.  That 
year  I  received  my  first  whipping.  I  had  failed  one  day 
to  finish  my  allotted  task.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
done  my  best ;  but  somehow,  that  day,  thoughts  of  home 
came  so  fresh  and  tender  into  my  mind,  and,  along  with 
these  thoughts,  a  sense  of  my  utter  hopeless  desolation 
came  in  and  took  such  a  strong  hold  of  my  heart,  that 
I  sank  down  a  helpless,  heartbroken  child.  My  tasks 
for  that  day  were  neglected.  The  next  morning  my 
master  made  me  strip  off  my  shirt,  and  then  whipped 
me  with  a  cowhide  till  the  blood  ran  trickling  down 
upon  the  floor.  My  master  was  very  profane,  and  with 
dreadful  oaths,  he  assured  me  that  there  was  only  one 
way  for  me  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  this  terrible  disci 
pline,  and  that  was  to  do  my  tasks  every  day,  sick  or 
well. 

And  BO  this  year  went  by,  and  my  duties  were 
changed,  and  my  lot  was  made  a  little  easier.  The 
cook,  Fanny,  died,  and  I  was  put  into  her  place.  I  still 
had  to  get  wood,  and  keep  the  fires  in  the  house,  and, 
after  the  work  of  cooking,  setting  the  table,  clearing 


12  NAIIRATIVK    OF    A    JILi  l'(;i:K    SLATE. 

away  and  washing  the  dishes,  there  was  always  some 
thing  to  be  done  for  my  mistress.  I  got  but  little  time 
to  rest;  but  I  got  enough  to  eat,  which  I  had  not  done 
the  year  before.  I  was  by  the  comfortable  fire,  a  good 
part  of  the  cold  winter  weather,  instead  of  being  ex 
posed  to  the  cold  and  wet,  without  warm  clothing,  as  I 
had  been  the  year  before,  and  rny  labor  was  not  so  bard 
the  second  year  as  it  had  been  the  first. 

My  mistress  complained  of  me  at  length,  that  I  was 
not  so  obedient  as  I  ought  to  be,  and  so  1  was  taken 
from  the  house  into  the  store.  My  business  there  was 
to  open  and  sweep  out  the  store  in  the  morning,  and  get 
all  the  things  ready  for  the  accommodation  of  custom 
ers  who  might  come  in  during  the  day.  Then  I  had  to 
bring  out  and  deliver  all  heavy  articles  that  might  be 
called  for  during  the  day,  such  as  salt,  large  quantities 
of  which  were  sold  in  the  store ;  ship  stores,  grain  &c. 
I  had  also  to  hold  myself  ready  to  run  on  any  errand  my 
master  or  clerk,  David  Cogdell,  might  wish  to  send 
me  on.  While  Cogdell  remained  in  the  store,  I  enjoyed 
a  gleam  of  happiness.  He  was  very  kind  tome,  never 
giving  me  a  cross  word  or  a  sour  look  :  always  ready  to 
show  me  how  to  do  anything  which  I  did  not  under 
stand,  and  to  perform  little  acts  of  kindness  to  me.  His 
condescension  to  me,  a  poor,  despised,  homeless  and 
friendless  slave,  and  his  tenderness  to  me,  while  all  oth 
ers  were  severe  and  scornful,  sank  down  a  precious  bond 
of  grateful  emotion  into  my  desolate  heart.  1  .seemed 
to  be  lifted  up  by  this  noble  friend  at  times,  from  the 
dark  despair  which  had  settled  down  upon  my  life,  and 
to  be  joined  once  more  to  a  living  hope  of  future  im 
provement  in  my  sad  lot.  Should  these  simple  words 
ever  meet  the  eye  of  David  Cogdell,  let  them  assure 
him  of  my  fervent  gratitude  and  affection  for  his  good 
ness  to  me.  Let  them  tell  him  how  infinitely  precious 
to  my  mourning  heart,  then  and  now,  his  generous 
treatment  and  noble  kindness  of  a  despised  and  unhap 
py  boy.  And  let  them  say  to  him,  "  My  early  and 
true  friend,  Tommy,  the  poor  slave  boy,  whom  you 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.         13 

blessed  with  unfailing  kindness,  lias  now  grown  to  be 
a  man,  and  has  run  away  from  the  dark  misery  of  bon 
dage.  And  now,  when  he  calls  upon  his  father  in 
Heaven  to  pour  out  rich  blessings  on  the  few  friends 
who  have  aided  him,  then  David  Cogdell  is  remem 
bered  with  fond  and  fervent  affection."  David  was 
one  of  the  few  who  always  regard  the  feelings  and 
happiness  of  others  as  earnestly  as  his  own  ;  who  find 
their  own  happiness  in  making  the  unfortunate  happy, 
by  sympathy  and  kindness,  and  who  would  suffer  any 
loss  rather  than  do  injustice  to  the  poor  and  defenceless. 
I  often  wondered  how  there  could  be  such  a  difference 
in  the  character  of  two  men,  as  there  was  between  that 
of  my  master,  and  my  friend  and  benefactor,  David 
Cogdell.  And  I  often  wished  that  I  might  pass  into 
the  hands  of  such  a  man  as  he  was.  But  his  kindness 
and  generosity  to  the  poor  slaves  was  very  offensive  to 
my  master,  and  to  other  slaveholders  ;  and  so,  at  length, 
Mr.  Jones  turned  him  off,  though  he  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  was  the  most 
trustworthy  and  valuable  assistant  he  had  ever  had  in 
his  store. 

After  my  master  dismissed  Mr.  C. ,  he  tried  to  get 
along  with  me  alone  in  the  store.  He  kept  the  books 
and  waited  upon  the  most  genteel  of  his  customers, 
leaving  me  to  do  the  rest  of  the  work.  This  went  on 
six  months,  when  he  declared  that  he  could  not  bear 
this  confinement  any  longer  ;  and  so  he  got  a  white 
boy  to  come  and  enter  as  clerk,  to  stay  till  he  was  of 
age.  James  Dixon  was  a  poor  boy,  about  my  own  age, 
and  when  he  came  into  the  store, could  hardly  reader 
write.  He  was  accordingly  engaged  a  part  of  each  day 
with  his  books  and  writing.  I  saw  him  studying,  and 
asked  him  to  let  me  see  his  book.  When  he  felt  in  a 
good  humor,  James  was  very  kind  and  obliging.  The 
great  trouble  with  him  was,  that  his  fits  of  ill-humor 
were  muck  more  frequent  than  his  times  of  good  feel 
ing.  It  happened,  however,  that  he  was  on  good  terms 
wilh  himself  when  I  asked  him  to  show  me  his  book,  and 
2 


1-1  NATiEA,nvi;  OF  A    111:1  Tun:   SLAVI;. 

r-o  ho  lot  mo  take  it.  and  look  at  it.  and  ho  answered 
very  kindly  many  questions  which  I  askod  him  about 
books  and  schools  and  learning.  He  told  mo  that  he 
was  trying  to  got  learning  enough  to  lit  him  to  do  a 
good  business  for  himself  after  ho  should  got  through 
with  Mr.  Jones.  He  told  me  that  a  man  who  had 
learning  would  always  find  friends,  and  got  along  very 
well  in  the  world  without  having  to  work  hard,  while 
those  who  had  no  learning  would  have  no  friends  and 
be  com  polled  to  work  very  hard  for  a  poor  living  all 
their  days.  This  was  all  new  to  me,  and  furnished  me 
topics  for  wondering  thought  for  days  afterwards.  The 
result  of  my  meditations  was,  that  an  intense  burning 
desire  to  learn  to  read  and  write  took  possession  of  my 
mind,  occupying  me  wholly  in  waking  hours,  and  stir 
ring  up  earnest  thoughts  in  my  soul  even  when  I  slept. 
The  question,  which  then  took  hold  of  my  whole  con 
sciousness  was,  how  can  I  get  a  book  to  begin  ?  James 
told  me  that  a  spelling-book  wras  the  first  one  necessary 
in  getting  learning.  So  I  contrived  how  I  might  ob 
tain  a  spelling-book.  At  length,  after  much  study,  I 
hit  upon  this  plan  :  I  cleaned  the  boots  of  a  Mr.  David 
Smith  Jr.,  who  carried  on  the  printing  business,  in 
Wilmington,  and  edited  the  Cape  Fear  Recorder.  He 
had  always  appeared  to  me  a  very  kind  man.  I  thought 
I  would  get  him  to  aid  mo  in  procuring  a  spelling-book. 
So  I  went  one  morning,  with  a  beating  heart,  into  his 
office,  and  asked  him  to  sell  me  a  spelling-book.  He 
looked  at  me  in  silence,  and  with  close  attention,  for 
some  time,  and  askod  me  what  I  wanted.  I  told  him 
I  wanted  to  learn  to  road.  He  shook  his  head,  and 
replied,  "  No,  Thomas,  it  would  not  answer  for  me  to 
sell  you  a  book  to  learn  out  of ;  you  will  only  get  your 
self  into  trouble  if  you  attempt  it ;  and  I  advise  you  to 
get  that  foolish  notion  out  of  your  head  as  quickly  as 
you  can/' 

David's  brother,  Peter  Smith,  kept  a  book  and  sta 
tionery  store  under  the  printing  office,  and  I  next  ap 
plied  to  him  for  a  book,  determined  to  persevere  till  I 


XARKATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  15 

obtained  this  coveted  treasure.  He  asked  me  the  same 
question  that  his  brother  David  had  done,  and  with  the 
same  searching,  suspicious  look.  By  my  previous  re 
pulse  I  had  discovered  that  I  could  not  get  a  spelling- 
book,  if  I  told  what  I  wanted  to  do  with  it,  and  so  1 
told  a  lie,  in  order  to  get  it.  I  answered,  that  I  want 
ed  it  for  a  white  boy,  naming  one  that  lived  at  my 
master's,  and  that  he  had  given  me  the  money  to  get 
it  with,  and  had  asked  me  to  call  at  the  store  and  buy 
it.  The  book  was  then  handed  out  to  me,  the  money 
taken  in  return,  and  I  left,  feeling  very  rich  with  my 
long-desired  treasure.  I  got  out  of  the  store,  and, 
looking  around  to  see  that  no  one  observed  me,  I  hid 
my  book  in  my  bosom,  and  hurried  on  to  my  work, 
conscious  that  a  new  era  in  my  life  was  opening  upon 
me  through  the  possession  of  this  book.  That  con 
sciousness  at  once  awakened  new  thoughts,  purposes, 
and  new  hopes,  a  new  life,  in  fact,  in  my  experience. 
My  mind  was  excited.  The  words  spoken  by  James 
Dixon  of  the  great  advantages  of  learning,  made  me 
intensely  anxious  to  learn.  I  was  a  slave  ;  and  1  knew 
that  the  whole  community  was  in  league  to  keep  the 
poor  slave  in  ignorance  and  chains.  Yet  I  longed  to 
be  free,  and  to  be  able  to  move  the  minds  of  other  men 
by  my  thoughts.  It  seemed  to  me  now,  that,  if  I  could 
learn  to  read  and  write,  this  learning  might — nay,  I 
really  thought  it  woufd,  point  out  to  me  the  way  to 
freedom,  influence,  and  real,  secure  happiness.  So  I 
hurried  on  to  my  master's  store,  and,  watching  my 
opportunity  to  do  it  safe  from  curious  eyes,  I  hid  my 
book  with  the  utmost  care,  under  some  liquor  barrels 
in  the  smoke  house.  The  first  opportunity  I  improved 
to  examine  my  book/?  I  looked  it  over  with  the  most 
intent  eagerness,  turned  over  its  leaves,  and  tried  to 
discover  what  the  new^aud  strange  characters  which  I 
saw  in  its  pages  miglit  mean.  But  I  found  it  a  vain 
endeavor.  I  could  understand  a  picture,  and  from  it 
make  out  a  story  of  immediate  interest  to  my  mind. 
But  I  could  not  associate  any  thought  or  fact  with  these 


1G  XAFIKATIVE  or  A    HKI-TOKE  SLAVE. 

crooked  letters  with  which  my  primer  was  filled.  So 
the  next  day  1  sought  a  favorable  moment,  and  asked 
James  to  tell  me  where  a  scholar  must  begin  in  order 
to  learn  to  read,  and  how.  He  laughed  at  my  ignorance, 
and,  taking  his  spelling-book,  showed  me  the  alphabet 
in  large  and  small  letters  on  the  same  page.  1  asked 
him  the  name  of  the  first  letter,  pointing  it  out,  he 
told  me  A  ;  so  of  the  next,  and  so  on  through  the  al 
phabet.  I  managed  to  remember  A  and  B,  and  1  stud 
ied  and  looked  out  the  same  letters  in  many  other  parts 
of  the  book.  And  so  I  fixed  in  a  tenacious  memory 
the  names  of  the  two  first  letters  of  the  alphabet.  But 
I  found  I  could  not  get  on  without  help,  and  so  I  ap 
plied  to  James  again  to  show  me  the  letters  and  tell 
me  their  names.  This  time  he  suspected  me  of  trying 
to  learn  to  read  myself,  and  he  plied  me  with  questions 
till  he  ascertained  that  I  was,  in  good  earnest,  entering 
upon  an  effort  to  get  knowledge.  At  this  discovery, 
be  manifested  a  good  deal  of  indignation.  He  told  me, 
in  scorn,  that  it  was  not  for  such  as  me  to  try  to  improve, 
that  /was  a  slave,  and  that  it  was  not  proper  form'  to 
learn  to  read.  He  threatened  to  tell  my  master,  and 
at  length,  by  his  hard  language,  my  anger  was  fully 
aroused,  and  I  answered  taunt  with  taunt.  He  called 
me  a  poor  miserable  nigger  ;  and  I  called  him  a  poor, 
ignorant  white  servant  boy.  While  we  were  engaged 
in  loud  and  angry  words,  of  mutual  defiance  and  scorn, 
my  master  came  into  the  store.  Mr.  Jones  had  never 
given  me  a  whipping  since  the  time  I  have  already 
described,  during  my  first  year  of  toil,  want  and  suf 
fering  in  his  service.  But  he  now  caught  me  in  the 
unpardonable  offence  of  giving  saucy  language  to  a 
white  boy,  and  one,  too,  who  was  in  his  employ.  With 
out  stopping  to  make  any  enquiries,  he  took  down  the 
cowhide,  and  gave  me  a  severe  whipping.  He  told  me 
never  to  talk  back  to  a  white  man  on  pain  of  flogging. 
I  suppose  this  law  or  custom  is  universal  at  the  south. 
And  I  suppose  it  is  thought  necessary  to  enforce  this 
habit  of  obsequious  submission  on  the  part  of  the  col- 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.         17 

ored  people  to  the  whites,  in  order  to  maintain  their 
supremacy  over  the  poor,  outraged  slaves. 

I  will  mention,  in  this  connection,  as  illustrative  of 
this  cruel  custom,  an  incident  which  I  saw  just  before  I 
ran  away  from  my  chains.  A  little  colored  boy  was 
carrying  along  through  Wilmington  a  basket  of  food. 
His  name  was  Ben,  and  he  belonged  to  Mrs.  Ruiikin, 
a  widow  lady.  A  little  mischievous  white  boy,  just 
about  Ben's  age  and  size,  met  him,  and  purposely  over 
turned  the  little  fellow's  basket,  and  scattered  his  load 
in  the  mud.  Ben,  in  return  for  this  wanton  act,  called 
him  some  hard  name,  when  the  white  boy  clinched  him 
to  throw  him  down  with  the  scattered  fragments  up 
on  his  basket  in  the  mud.  Ben  resisted,  and  threw 
down  the  white  boy,  proving  to  be  the  stronger  of  the 
two.  Tom  Myers,  a  young  lawyer  of  Wilmington,  saw 
the  contest,  and  immediately  rushing  out,  seized  little 
Ben,  and  dragged  him  into  the  store  opposite  the  place 
of  battle.  He  sent  out  to  a  saddler's  shop,  procured  a 
cowhide,  and  gave  the  little  fellow  a  tremendous  flog 
ging,  for  the  daring  crime  of  resisting  a  white  boy  who 
had  wantonly  invaded  his  rights.  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  the  spirit  of  self-respect  of  the  poor  ignorant  slave 
is  broken  down  by  such  treatment  of  unsparing  and 
persevering  cruelty  ? 

I  was  now  repulsed  by  James,  so  that  I  could  hope 
for  no  assistance  from  him  in  learning  to  read.  But  I 
could  not  go  on  alone.  I  must  get  some  one  to  aid  me 
in  starting,  or  give  up  the  effort  to  learn.  This  I  could 
not  bear  to  do.  I  longed  to  be  able  to  read,  and  so  I 
cast  about  me  to  see  what  I  should  do  next.  I  thought 
of  a  kind  boy  at  the  bake-house,  near  ray  own  age.  I 
thought  he  would  help  me,  and  so  I  went  to  him, 
showed  my  book,  and  asked  him  to  teach  me  the  letters. 
He  told  their  names,  and  went  over  the  whole  alpha 
bet  with  me  three  times.  By  this  assistance,  I  learned 
a  few  more  of  the  letters,  so  that  I  could  remember 
them  afterwards  when  I  sat  down  alone  and  tried  to 
call  them  over.  I  could  now  pick  out  and  name  five 
2* 


18  NARRATIVE    OF    A     KIMUGKE    SLAVE. 

or  six  of  the  letters  in  any  part  of  the  book.  I  felt 
then  that  1  was  getting  along,  and  the  consciousness 
that  I  was  making  progress,  though  slow  and  painful, 
was  joy  and  hope  to  iny  sorrowing  heart,  such  as  I 
never  felt  before."  I  could  not  with  safety  go  to  the 
bake-house,  as  there  I  was  exposed  to  detection  by  the 
sudden  entrance  of  customers  or  idlers.  I  wanted  to 
get  a  teacher  who  would  give  me  a  little  aid  each  day, 
and  now  I  set  about  securing  this  object.  As  kind 
Providence  would  have  it,  I  easily  succeeded,  and  on  this 
wise :  A  litle  boy,  Hiram  Bricket,  ten  years  old,  or 
about  that  age,  came  along  by  the  store  one  day,  on 
his  way  home  from  school,  while  my  master  was  gone 
home  to  dinner,  and  James  was  in  the  front  part  of 
the  store.  I  beckoned  to  Hiram  to  come  round  to  the 
back  door ;  and  with  him  I  nrade  a  bargain  to  meet  me 
each  day  at  noon,  when  I  was  allowed  a  little  while  to 
get  my  dinner,  and  to  give  me  instruction  in  reading. 
I  was  to  give  him  six  cents  a  week.  I  met  him  the  next 
day  at  his  father's  stable,  the  place  agreed  upon  for 
our  daily  meeting  ;  anS,  going  into  one  of  the  stables, 
the  noble  little  Hiram  gave  me  a  thorough  lesson  in 
the  alphabet.  I  learned  it  nearly  all  at  that  time, 
with  what  study  I  could  give  it  by  stealth  during  the 
day  and  night.  And  then  again  I  felt  lifted  up  and 
happy. 

I  was  permitted  to  enjoy  these  advantages,  however, 
but  a  short  time.  A  black  boy,  belonging  to  Hiram's 
father,  one  day  discovered  our  meeting  and  what  we 
were  doing.  He  told  his  master  of  it,  and  Hiram  was 
at  once  forbidden  this  employment.  I  had  then  got 
along  so  that  I  was  reading  and  spelling  in  words  of 
two  syllables.  My  noble  little  teacher  was  very  patient 
and  faithful  with  me,  and  my  days  were  passing  away 
in  very  great  happiness  under  the  consciousness  that  I 
was  learning  to  read.  I  felt  at  night,  as  I  went  to  my 
rest,  that  I  was  really  beginning  to  be  a  man,  preparing 
myself  for  a  condition  in  life  better  and  higher,  and 
happier  than  could  belong  to  the  ignorant  slave.  And 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  19 

in  this  blessed  feeling  I  found,  waking  and  sleeping,  a 
most  precious  happiness. 

After  I  was  deprived  of  my  kind  little  teacher,  I 
plodded  on  the  best  way  I  could  myself,  and  in  this 
way  I  got  into  words  of  five  syllables.  I  got  some  little 
time  to  study  by  daylight  in  the  morning,  before  any 
of  my  master's  family  had  risen.  I  got  a  moment's 
opportunity  also  at  noon,  and  sometimes  at  night.  Dur 
ing  the  day,  I  was  in  the  back  store  a  good  deal,  and 
whenever  I  thought  I  could  have  five  minutes  to  my 
self,  I  would  take  my  book  and  try  to  learn  a  little  in 
reading  and  spelling.  If  I  heard  James,  or  master 
Jones,  or  any  customer  coming  in,  I  would  drop  my 
book  among  the  barrels,  and  pretend  to  be  very  busy 
shoveling  the  salt  or  doing  some  other  work.  Seve 
ral  times  I  came  very  near  being  detected.  My  mas 
ter  suspected  something,  because  1  was  so  still  in  the 
back  room,  and  a  number  of  times  he  came  very  slily 
to  see  what  I  was  about.  But  at  such  times  I  was  al 
ways  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  his  tread  or  see  his  shadow 
on  the  wall  in  time  to  hide  away  my  book. 

When  I  had  got  along  to  words  of  five  syllables,  I 
went  to  see  a  colored  friend,  Ned  Cowan,  whom  I  knew 
I  could  trust.  I  told  him  I  was  trying  to  learn  to 
read,  and  asked  him  to  help  me  a  little.  He  said  he 
did  not  dare  to  give  me  any  instruction,  but  he  heard 
me  read  a  few  words,  and  then  told  me  I  should  learn 
if  I  would  only  persevere  as  nobly  as  I  had  done  thus 
far.  I  told  him  how  I  had  got  along,  and  what  diffi 
culties  I  had  met  with.  He  encouraged  me,  and  spoke 
very  kindly  of  my  efforts  to  improve  my  condition  by 
getting  learning.  He  told  me  I  had  got  along  far 
enough  to  get  another  book,  in  which  I  could  learn  to 
write  the  letters,  as  well  as  to  read.  He  told  me  where 
and  how  to  procure  this  book.  I  followed  his  directions, 
and  obtained  another  spelling-book  at  Worcester's  store 
in  Wilmington.  Jacob  showed  me  a  little  about  writ 
ing.  He  set  me  a  copy,  first  of  straight  marks.  I 
now  got  me  a  box  which  I  could  hide  under  my  bed, 


LJ0  NARRATIVE    OF    A    RE1  I   GEE    SLAVE. 

some  ink,  pens,  and  a  bit  of  candle.  So,  when  I  went 
to  bed,  I  pulled  my  box  out  from  under  my  cot,  turned 
it  up  on  end,  and  began  my  first  attempt  at  writing. 
I  worked  away  till  my  candle  was  burned  out,  and  then 
laid  down  to  sleep.  Jacob  next  set  me  a  copy,  which 
he  called  pot-hooks  ;  then,  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 
These  letters  were  also  in  my  new  spelling-book,  and 
according  to  Jacob's  directions,  I  set  them  before  me 
for  a  copy,  and  wrote  on  these  exercises  till  1  could 
form  all  the  letters  and  call  them  by  name.  One  eve 
ning  I  wrote  out  my  name  in  large  letters — THOMAS 
JONES.  This  I  carried  to  Jacob,  in  a  great  excite 
ment  of  happiness,  and  he  warmly  commended  me  for 
my  perseverance  and  diligence. 

About  this  time,  I  was  at  the  store  early  one  morn 
ing,  and,  thinking  I  was  safe  from  all  danger  for  a  few 
minutes,  had  seated  myself  in  the  back  store,  on  one  of 
the  barrels,  to  study  in  my  precious  spelling-book. 
While  I  was  absorbed  in  this  happy  enterprize,  my 
master  came  in,  much  earlier  than  usual,  and  I  did  not 
hear  him.  He  came  directly  into  the  back  store.  I 
saw  his  shadow  on  the  wall,  just  in  time  to  throw  my 
book  over  in  among  the  barrels,  before  he  could  see 
what  it  wras,  although  he  saw  that  I  had  thrown  some 
thing  quickly  away.  His  suspicion  wras  aroused.  He 
said  that  I  had  been  stealing  something  out  of  the 
store,  and  fiercely  ordered  me  to  get  what  I  threw  away 
just  as  he  was  coming  in  at  the  door.  Without  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation,  I  determined  to  save  my  precious 
book  and  my  future  opportunities  to  learn  out  of  it. 
I  knew  if  my  book  was  discovered  that  all  was  lost,  and 
I  felt  prepared  for  any  hazard  or  suffering  rather  than 
give  up  my  book  and  my  hopes  of  improvement.  So 
I  replied  at  once  to  his  questions,  that  I  had  not 
thrown  any  thing  away  ;  that  I  had  not  stolen  any 
thing  from  the  store  ;  that  I  did  not  have  any  thing  in 
my  hands  which  I  could  throw  away  when  he  came  in. 
My  master  declared,  in  a  high  passion,  that  I  was  ly 
ing,  and  ordered  me  to  begin  and  roll  away  the  barrels. 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  21 

This  I  did  ;  but  managed  to  keep  the  book  slipping 
along  so  that  he  could  not  see  it,  as  he  stood  in  the 
door-way.  He  charged  me  again  with  stealing  and 
throwing  something  away,  and  I  again  denied  the 
charge.  In  a  great  rage,  he  got  down  his  long,  heavy 
cow-hide,  and  ordered  me  to  strip  off  my  jacket  and 
shirt,  saying,  with  an  oath,  "  I  will  make  you  tell  me 
what  it  was  you  had  when  I  came."  I  stripped  my 
self,  and  came  forward,  according  to  his  directions,  at 
the  same  time  denying  his  charge  with  great  earnest 
ness  of  tone,  and  look,  and  manner.  He  cut  me  on 
my  naked  back,  perhaps  thirty  times,  with  great  sever 
ity,  making  the  blood  flow  freely.  He  then  stopped, 
and  asked  me  what  I  had  thrown  away  as  he 
came  in.  I  answered  again  that  I  had  thrown  nothing 
away.  He  swore  terribly  ;  said  he  was  certain  I  was 
lying,  and  declared  he  would  kill  me,  if  I  did  not  tell 
him  the  truth.  He  whipped  me  the  second  time  with 
greater  severity,  and  at  greater  length  than  before. 
He  then  repeated  his  question,  and  I  answered  again 
as  before.  I  was  determined  to  die,  if  I  could  possibly 
bear  the  pain,  rather  than  give  up  my  dear  book.  He 
whipped  me  the  third  time,  with  the  same  result  as 
before,  and  then  seizing  hold  of  my  shoulders,  turned 
me  round,  as  though  he  would  inflict  on  my  quivering 
flesh  still  another  scourging,  but  he  saw  the  deep 
gashes  he  had  already  made,  and  the  blood  already 
flowing  under  his  cruel  infliction  ;  and  his  stern  pur 
pose  failed  him.  He  said,  "  Why,  Tom,  I  didn't  think  I 
had  cut  you  so  bad,"  and  saying  that,  he  stopped,  and 
told  me  to  put  on  my  shirt  again.  I  did  as  he  bade 
me,  although  my  coarse  shirt  touching  my  raw  back 
put  me  to  a  cruel  pain.  He  then  went  out,  and  I 
got  my  book  and  hid  it  safely  away  before  he  came  in 
again.  When  I  went  to  the  house,  my  wounds  had 
dried,  and  I  was  in  an  agony  of  pain.  My  mistress 
told  the  servant  girl,  Kachel,  to  help  me  off  with  my 
shirt,  and  to  wash  my  wounds  for  me,  and  put  on  to 
them  some  sweet  oil.  The  shirt  was  dried  to  my  back, 


'2'2  XAUKATivi:  OF  A    ui:r i  •;'.:];   SLAVE. 

so  that  it  could  not  bo  got  oil'  without  tearing  off  some 
of  the  skin  with  ii.  The  pain,  upon  doing  this,  was 
greater  even  than  I  had  endured  from  in y  cruel  whip 
ping.  After  Rachel  hail  i^ot  mv  shirt  oil',  my  misi  ross 
asked  me  what  I  had  done  for  which  my  ma.-? Lor  had 
whipped  me  so  severely.  I  told  her  he  had  accused 
me  of  stealing  when  1  had  not.  and  then  had  whipped 
me  to  make  me  own  it. 

While  llachel  was  putting  on  the  sweet  oil.  my  mas 
ter  came  in,  and  I  could  hear  mistivss  scolding  him 
for  giving  me  such  an  inhuman  heating,  when  1  had 
done  nothing.  lie  said  in  reply,  that  Tom  was  an  ob- 
stinate  liar,  and  that  was  the  reason  why  he  had  whip 
ped  me. 

But  I  got  well  of  my  mangled  hack,  and  my  hook 
was  still  left.  This  was  my  host,  my  constant  i'riend. 
With  great  eagerness,  I  snatched  every  moment  1 
could  get,  morning,  noon  and  night,  for  study.  1  had 
"begun  to  road  :  and,  oh,  how  I  loved  to  study,  and  to 
dwell  on  the  thoughts  which  I  gained  from  reading. 
About  this  time,  [  read  a  piece  in  mv  book  about  God. 
it  said  that  '•  God,  who  sees  and  knows  all  our  thoughts, 
loves  the  good  and  makes  them  happy  :  while  he  is 
angry  with  the  bad,  and  will  punish  them  fur  all  their 
sins."  /This  made  me  feel  very  unhappy,  because  i  was 
sure  I  was  not  good  in  the  sight  of  God.  I  thought 
about  this,  and  couldn't  get  it  out  of  my  mind  a  single 
hour.  So  I  went  to  James  Galley  a  colored  man,  who 
exhorted  the  slaves  sometimes  on  Sunday,  and  told  him 
my  trouble,  asking,  "  what  shall  I  do'.)V  He  told  me 
about  Jesus,  and  told  me  I  must  pray  the  Lord  to  for 
give  me  and  help  me  to  be  go-id  and  happy.  So  1  went 
home,  and  went  down  cellar  and  prayed,  but  1  found 
no  relief,  no  comfort  for  my  unhappy  mind.  I  felt  so 
had  that  I  could  not  study  my  book.  3Iy  master  saw 
that  L  looked  verv  unhappy,  and  ho  asked  me  wiia-t 
ailed  me.  i  did  not  dare  now  to  tell  a  lie.  for  1  want 
ed  to  be  good,  that  i  might  be  happy.  So  I  told  my 
master  just  how  it  was  with  me  ;  and  then  he  s \voiv 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLATE.  23 

terribly  at  ine,  and  said  he  would  whip  me  if  I  did  not 
give  over  praying.  He  said  there  was  no  heaven  and 
no  hell,  and  that  Christians  were  all  hypocrites,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  after  this  life,  and  that  he 
would  not  permit  me  to  go  moping  round,  praying  and 
going  to  the  meetings.  I  told  him  I  could  not  help 
praying  ,  and  then  he  cursed  me  in  a  great  passion,  and 
declared  he  would  whip  me  if  he  knew  of  my  going 
on  any  more  in  that  foolish  way.  The  next  night  I 
was  to  a  meeting,  which  was  led  by  Jack  Gammon,  a 
free  colored  man,  and  a  class  leader  in  the  Methodist 
Church,  I  was  so  much  overcome  by  my  feelings,  that 
I  staid  very  late.  They  prayed  for  me,  but  I  did  not 
yet  find  any  relief;  I  was  still  very  unhappy.  The 
next  morning,  my  master  came  in,  and  asked  me  if  I 
went  the  night  before  to  the  meeting.  I  told  him 
the  truth.  He  said,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  I  would  whip 
you  if  you  went  nigh  these  meetings,  and  didn't  I  tell 
you  to  stop  this  foolish  praying?"  I  told  him  he  did, 
and  if  he  would,  why,  he  might  whip  me,  but  still  I 
could  not  stop  praying,  because  I  wanted  to  be  good, 
that  I  might  be  happy  and  go  to  heaven.  This  reply 
made  my  master  very  angry.  With  many  bitter  oaths, 
he  said  he  had  promised  me  a  whipping,  and  now  he 
should  be  as  good  as  his  word.  And  so  he  was.  He 
whipped  me,  and  then  forbade,  with  bitter  threaten- 
ings,  my  praying  any  more,  and  especially  my  going 
again  to  meeting.  This  was  Friday  morning.  I  con 
tinued  to  pray  for  comfort  and  peace.  The  next  Sun 
day  I  went  to  meeting.  The  minister  preached  a  ser 
mon  on  being  born  again,  from  the  words  of  Jesus  to 
Nicodemus.  All  this  only  deepened  my  trouble  of 
mind.  I  returned  home  very  unhappy.  Collins,  a 
free  man  of  color,  was  at  the  meeting,  and  told  my 
master  that  I  was  there.  So,  on  Monday  morning  my 
master  whipped  me  again,  and  once  more  forbade  my 
going  to  meetings  and  praying.  The  next  Sunday 
there  was  a  class  meeting,  led  by  Binney  Pennison,  a 
colored  free  man.  I  asked  my  master,  towards  night, 


24  NARRATIVE    OF    A     UEKIT.KK    SLAVE. 

if  I  might  go  out.  I  told  him  1  did  not  fool  woll.  I 
wanted  to  go  to  the  class  mooting.  Without  asking 
mo  where  I  was  going,  lie  said  I  might  go.  I  wont  to 
the  class.  I  staid  very  lato,  and  1  was  so  overcome  by 
my  feelings,  that  I  could  not  go  homo  that  night.  So 
they  carried  mo  to  Joseph  Jones's  cabin,  a  slave  of 
Mr.  Jones.  Joseph  talked  and  prayed  with  me  near 
ly  all  night.  In  the  morning  I  went  home  as  soon  as 
it  was  light,  and,  for  fear  of  master,  I  asked  Nancy, 
one  of  the  slaves,  to  go  up  into  mistress's  room  and 
get  the  store  key  for  me,  that  I  might  go  and  open 
the  store.  My  master  told  her  to  go  back  and  tell 
me  to  come  up.  I  obeyed  with  many  fears.  My  mas 
ter  asked  me  where  I  had  been  the  night  before.  I 
told,  him  the  whole  truth.  He  cursed  me  again,  and 
said  he  should  whip  me  for  my  obstinate  disobedience  ; 
and  he  declared  he  would  kill  me  if  I  did  not  promise 
to  obey  him.  He  refused  to  listen  to  my  mistress,  who 
was  a  professor,  and  who  tried  to  intercede  for  me. 
And,  just  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  threatening  me 
with  what  he  would  do,  he  ordered  me  to  take  the  key 
and  go  and  open  the  store.  When  he  came  into  the 
store  that  morning,  two  of  his  neighbors,  Julius  Dum- 
biven,  and  MeCauslin,  caine  in  too.  He  called  me  up 
and  asked  me  again  where  I  staid  last  night.  I  told 
him  with  his  boy,  Joseph.  He  said  he  knew  that  was 
a  lie ;  and  he  immediately  sent  off  for  Joseph  to  con 
firm  his  suspicions.  He  ordered  me  to  strip  off  my 
clothes,  and,  as  I  did  so,  he  took  down  the  cow-hide, 
heavy  and  stiff  with  blood  which  he  had  before  drawn 
from  my  body  with  that  cruel  weapon,  and  which  was 
congealed  upon  it.  Dumbiven  professed  to  be  a  Chris 
tian,  and  he  now  came  forward,  and  earnestly  interce 
ded  for  me,  but  to  no  purpose,  and  then  ho  left.  Mc 
Causlin  asked  my  master,  if  he  did  not  know  that  a 
slave  was  worth  more  money  after  he  became  pious  than 
he  was  before.  And  why  then,  he  said,  should  you  forbid 
Tom  going  to  meetings  and  praying;  He  replied, 
that  religion  was  all  a  damned  mockery,  and  he  was 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  25 

not  going  to  have  any  of  his  slaves  praying  and  whin 
ing  round  about  their  souls.  McCausliu  then  left. 
Joseph  came  and  told  the  same  story  about  the  night 
before  that  I  had  done  ;  and  then  he  began  to  beg  mas 
ter  not  to  whip  me.  He  cursed  him  and  drove  him 
off.  He  then  whipped  me  with  great  severity,  inflict 
ing  terrible  pain  at  every  blow  upon  my  quivering 
body,  which  was  still  very  tender  from  recent  lacera 
tions.  My  suffering  was  so  great,  that  it  seemed  to 
me  I  should  die.  He  paused  at  length,  and  asked  me 
would  I  mind  him  and  stop  praying.  I  told  him  I 
could  not  promise  him  not  to  pray  any  more,  for  I  felt 
that  I  must  and  should  pray  as  long  as  I  lived.  "  Well, 
then,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I  swear  that  I  will  whip  you  ta 
death."  I  told  him  I  could  not  help  myself,  if  he  was 
determined  to  kill  me,  but  thai  I  must  pray  while  1 
lived.  He  then  began  to  whip  me  the  second  time, 
but  soon  stopped,  threw  down  the  bloody  cow-hide,  and 
told  me  to  go  wash  myself,  in  the  river,  just  back  of 
the  store,  and  then  dress  myself,  and  if  I  was  deter 
mined  to  be  a  fool,  why,  I  must  be  one.  My  mistress- 
now  interceded  earnestly  for  me  with  my  cruel  master. 
The  next  Sabbath  was  love  feast,  and  I  felt  very  anx 
ious  to  join  in  that  feast.  This  I  could  not  do  with 
out  a  paper  from  my  master,  and  so  I  asked  mistress 
to  help  me.  She  advised  me  to  be  patient,  and  said  she- 
would  help  me  all  she  could.  Master  refused  to  give 
any  paper,  and  so  I  could  not  join  in  the  love  feast  the 
next  day. 

On  the  next  Friday  evening,  I  went  to  the  prayer 
meeting.  Jack  Gammon  was  there,  and  opened  the 
meeting  with  prayer.  Then  Biniiey  Pennison  gave 
out  the  sweet  hymn,  which  begins  in  these  words : 

"  Come  ye  sinners  poor  and  needy, 

Weak  and  wounded,  sick  and  sore." 

I  felt  that  it  all  applied  most  sweetly  to  my  condition, 
and  I  said  in  my  heart,  /will  come  now  to  Jesus,  and 
trust  in  him.  So  when  those  who  felt  anxious  were 
requested  to  come  forward  and  kneel  within  the  altar 
for  prayer,  I  came  and  knelt  down.  While  Jacob. 


26         NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE. 

Gammon  was  praying  for  mo,  and  lor  those  who  knelt 
by  my  side,  my  burden  of  sorrow,  which  had  so  long 
weighed  me  down,  was  removed.  I  felt  the  glory  of 
God's  love  wanning  my  heart,  and  making  me  very 
happy.  I  shouted  aloud  for  joy,  and  tried  to  tell  all 
my  poor  slave  brothers  and  sisters,  who  were  in  the 
house,  what  a  dear  Savior  I  had  found,  and  how  happy 
I  felt  in  his  precious  love.  Binney  Pennison  asked 
me  if  I  could  forgive  my  master.  I  told  him  I  could, 
and  did,  and  that  I  could  pray  God  to  forgive  him, 
too,  and  make  him  a  good  man.  He  asked  me  if  I 
could  tell  my  master  of  the  change  in  my  feelings.  I 
told  him  I  should  tell  him  in  the  morning.  "  And 
what,"  he  said,  "  will  you  do  if  he  whips  you  still  for 
praying  and  going  to  meeting?"  I  said  I  will  ask  Jesus 
to  help  me  to  bear  the  pain,  and  to  forgive  my  master 
for  being  so  wicked.  He  then  said,  "Well,  then, 
Brother  Jones,  I  believe  that  you  are  a  Christian." 

A  good  many  of  us  went  from  the  meeting  to  a 
brother's  ciibin,  where  we  began  to  express  our  joy  in 
happy  songs.  The  palace  of  General  Dudley  was  only 
a  little  way  off,  and  he  soon  sent  over  a  slave  with 
orders  to  stop  our  noise,  or  he  would  send  thepatrolers 
upon  us.  We  then  stopped  our  singing,  and  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  night  in  talking,  rejoicing,  and  pray 
ing.  It  was  a  night  of  very  great  happiness  to  me. 
The  contrast  between  my  feelings  then,  and  for  many 
weeks  previous,  was  very  great.  Now,  all  was  bright 
and  joyous  in  my  relations  towards  my  precious  Savior. 
I  felt  certain  that  Jesus  was  my  Savior,  and  in  this 
blessed  assurance  a  flood  of  glory  and  joy  filled  my 
happy  soul.  But  this  sweet  night  passed  away,  and,  as 
the  morning  came,  I  felt  that  I  must  go  home,  and  bear 
the  slave's  heavy  cross.  I  went,  and  told  my  mistress 
the  blessed  change  in  my  feelings.  She  promised  me 
what  aid  she  could  give  me  with  my  master,  and  en 
joined  upon  me  to  be  patient  and  very  faithful  to  his 
interest,  and,  in  this  way,  I  should  at  length  wear  out 
his  opposition  to  my  praying  arid  going  to  meeting. 

I  went  down  to  the  store  in  a  very  happy  state  of 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.         27 

mind.  I  told  James  my  feelings.  He  called  me  a  fool, 
and  said  master  would  be  sure  to  whip  me.  I  told  him 
I  hoped  I  should  be  able  to  bear  it,  and  to  forgive  mas 
ter  for  his  cruelty  to  me.  Master  came  down,  talked 
with  me  a  while,  and  told  me  that  he  should  whip  me 
because  T  had  disobeyed  him  in  staying  out  all  night. 
He  had  told  me  he  should  whip  me  if  ever  I  did  so,  and 
he  should  make  every  promise  good.  So  I  began  to 
take  off  my  clothes.  He  called  me  a  crazy  fool,  and 
told  me  to  keep  my  clothes  on  till  he  told  me  to  take 
them  off.  He  whipped  me  over  my  jacket ;  but  I  en 
joyed  so  mucli  peace  of  mind,  that  I  scarcely  felt  the 
cow-hide.  This  was  the  last  whipping  that  Mr.  Jones 
inflicted  upon  me. 

I  was  then  nearly  eighteen  years  old.  I  waited  and 
begged  for  a  paper  to  join  the  church  six  months  be 
fore  I  could  get  it.  But  all  this  time  I  was  cheerful, 
as  far  as  a  slave  can  be,  and  very  earnest  to  do  all  I 
could  do  for  my  master  and  mistress.  I  was  resolved  to 
convince  them  that  I  was  happier  and  better  for  being 
a  Christian  ;  and  my  master  at  last  acknowledged  that 
he  could  not  find  any  fault  with  my  conduct,  and  that 
it  was  impossible  to  find  a  more  faithful  slave  than  I 
was  to  him.  And  so,  at  last,  he  gave  me  a  paper  to  Ben 
English,  the  leader  of  the  colored  members,  and  I 
joined  the  love  feast,  and  was  taken  into  the  church  on 
trial  for  six  months.  I  was  put  into  Billy  Cochran's 
class.  At  the  expiration  of  six  months,  I  was  received 
into  the  Church  in  full  fellowship,  Quaker  Davis'  class. 
I  remained  there  three  years.  My  master  was  much 
kinder  after  this  time  than  he  had  ever  been  before  ; 
and  I  was  allowed  some  more  time  to  myself  than  I  had 
been  before.  I  pursued  my  studies  as  far  as  I  could, 
but  I  soon  found  the  utter  impossibility  of  carrying  on 
my  studies  as  I  wished  to  do.  I  was  a  slave,  and  all 
avenues  to  real  improvement  I  found  guarded  with 
jealous  care  and  cruel  tenacity  against  the  despised  and 
desolated  bondman. 

I  still  felt  a  longing  desire  to  improve,  to  be  free,  but 
the  conviction  was  getting  hold  of  my  soul,  that  I  was 


28  NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUUEK    SLAVE. 

only  struggling  in  vain  when  seeking  to  elevate  myself 
into  a  manly  and  happy  position.  And  now  my  mind 
was  fast  sinking  into  despair.  I  could  read  and  write, 
and  often  enjoyed  much  happiness  in  poring  over  the 
very  few  books  i  eould  obtain  ;  and  especially,  at  times, 
I  found  great  peace  in  reading  my  old  worn  Testament. 
But  I  wanted  now  that  hope  which  had  filled  my 
mind  with  such  joy  when  I  first  began  to  learn  to  read. 
I  found  much  happiness  in  prayer.  But  here,  also, 
my  mind  labored  in  sadness  and  darkness  much  of  the 
time.  I  read  in  my  Testament  that  Jesus  came  from 
the  bright  heaven  of  his  glory  into  this  selfish  and  cruel 
world  to  seek  and  to  save  the  lost.  I  read  and  pondered 
with  deep  earnestness  on  the  blessed  rule  of  heavenly 
love  which  Jesus  declared  to  be  the  whole  of  man's  duty 
to  his  fellow  :  Each  to  treat  his  brother  as  he  would  be 
treated.  I  thought  of  the  command  given  to  the  fol 
lowers  of  the  loving  Savior,  to  teach  all  nations  to  obey 
the  blessed  precepts  of  the  gospel.  I  considered  that 
eighteen  hundred  years  had  gone  by  since  Jesus  plead 
for  man's  redemption  and  salvation,  and,  going  up  to 
heaven,  had  left  His  work  of  mercy  to  be  finished  by 
His  children,  and  then  I  thought  that,  I  and  thousands 
of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  loving  the  Lord  and  pressing 
on  to  a  blessed  and  endless  home  in  His  presence,  were 
slaves, — branded,  whipped, chained;  deeply,  hopelessly 
degraded, — thus  degraded  and  outraged,  too  in  a  land 
of  Bibles  and  Sabbaths  and  Churches,  and  by  professed 
followers  of  the  Lord  of  Love.  And  often  such 
thoughts  were  too  much  for  me.  In  an  agony  of  des 
pair,  I  have  at  times  given  up  prayer  and  hope  to 
gether,  believing  that  my  master's  words  were  true, 
that  **  religion  is  a  cursed  mockery,  and  the  Bible  a 
lie."  May  God  forgive  me  for  doubting,  at  such  times, 
His  justice  and  love.  There  was  but  one  thing  that 
saved  me  from  going  at  once  and  fully  into  dark  in 
fidelity,  when  such  agony  assailed  my  bleeding  heart, 
— the  memory  of  seasons  of  unspeakable  joy  in  prayer, 
when  Love  and  Faith  were  strong  in  my  heart.  The 
sweet  remembrance  of  these  dear  hours  would  draw  mo 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.  29 

Lack  to  Jesus  and  to  peace  in  his  mercy.  Oh  that  all 
true  Christians  knew  just  how  the  slave  feels  in  view  of 
the  religion  of  this  country,  by  whose  sanction  men 
and  women  are  bound,  branded,  bought  and  sold  ! 

About  this  time,  my  master  was  taken  sick.  On 
Sunday  he  was  prostrated  by  mortal  pains  ;  and,  on 
Friday  the  same  week  he  died.  He  left  fifteen  slaves  ; 
I  was  purchased  by  Owen  Holmes  for  $435.  I  was 
then  in  my  twenty- third  year.  I  had  just  passed 
through  the  darkest  season  of  despairing  agony  that 
I  had  yet  known.  This  came  upon  me  inconsequence 
of  the  visit,  which  I  have  already  described,  to  my  dear 
old  desolate  home.  About  this  time,  too,  I  entered  on 
a  new  and  distinct  period  of  life,  which  I  will  unfold 
in  another  chapter.  I  will  close  this  period  of  sorrow 
and  shame  with  a  few  lines  of  touching  interest  to 
my  mind. 

Who  shall  avenge  the  slave  ?  I  stood  and  cried  ; 

The  earth,  the  earth,  the  echoing  sea  replied. 

I  turned  me  to  the  ocean,  but  each  wave 

Declined  to  be  the  avenger  of  the  slave. 

Who  sluilt  avenge  the  slave  ?  my  species  cried  ; 

The  winds,  the  flood,  the  lightnings  of  the  sky. 

I  turned  to  these,  from  them  one  echo  ran, 

The  right  avenger  of  the  slave  is  man. 

Man  was  my  fellow ;  in  fas  sight  I  stood, 

Wept  and  besought  him  by  the  voice  of  blood. 

Sternly  lie  looked,  as  proud  on  earth  he  trod, 

Then  said,  the  avenger  of  the  slave  is  GOD. 

I  looked  in  prayer  towards  Heaven,  a  while  'twas  still, 

And  then,  methought,  God's  voice  replied,  I  WILL. 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 

I  enter  now  upon  a  new  developement  of  wrongs  and 
woes  which  I,  as  a  slave,  was  called  to  undergo.  I 
must  go  back  some  two  or  three  years  from  the  time 
when  my  master  died,  and  I  was  sold  to  Owen  Holmes. 
The  bitterness  of  persecution  which  master  Jones  had 
kept  up  against  me  so  long,  because  I  would  try  to 
serve  the  Lord,  had  passed  away.  I  was  permitted  to 
3* 


30  NAHRATIM:  OF  A  REFUGKK  SLAVIC 

pray  and  go  to  our  meetings  without  molestation.  My 
master  laid  aside  his  terrible  severity  towards  me.  By 
his  treatment  of  me  afterwards,  he  teemed  to  feel  that 
lie  had  done  wrong  in  scourging  me  as  he  had  done, 
because  I  could  not  obey  his  wicked  command,  to  stop 
praying  and  keep  away  from  the  meetings.  For,  after 
the  time  of  my  joining  the  Church,  he  allowed  me  to  go 
to  all  the  meetings,  and  granted  me  many  other  little 
favors,  which  I  had  never  before  received  from  him. 
About  this  time  I  began  to  feel  very  lonely.  I  wanted  a 
friend  to  whom  I  could  tell  my  story  of  sorrows,  of 
unsatisfied  longing,  of  new  and  fondly  cherished  plans. 
I  wanted  a  companion  whom  I  could  love  with  all  my 
warm  affections,  who  should  love  me  in  return  with  a 
true  and  fervent  heart,  of  whom  I  might  think  when 
toiling  for  a  selfish,  unfeeling  master,  who  shall  dwell 
fondly  on  my  memory  when  we  were  separated  during 
the  severe  labors  of  the  day,  and  with  whom  I  might 
enjoy  the  blessed  happiness  of  social  endearments  after 
the  work  of  each  day  was  over.  My  heart  yearned  to 
have  a  home,  if  it  was  only  the  wretched  home  of  the 
unprotected  slave,  to  have  a  wife  to  love  me  and  to  love. 
It  seems  to  me  that  no  one  can  have  such  fondness  of  love, 
and  such  intensity  of  desire  for  home  and  home  affections, 
as  the  poor  slave.  Despised  and  trampled  upon  by  a 
cruel  race  of  unfeeling  men,  the  bondman  must  die  in 
the  prime  of  his  wretched  life,  if  he  finds  no  refuge  in 
a  dear  home,  where  love  and  sympathy  shall  meet  him 
from  hearts  made  sacred  to  him  by  his  own  irrepressible 
affection  and  tenderness  for  them.  And  so  I  sought  to 
love  and  win  a  true  heart  in  return.  I  did  this,  too, 
with  the  full  knowledge  of  the  desperate  agony  that 
the  slave  husband  and  father  is  exposed  to.  Had  1  not 
seen  this  in  the  anguish  of  my  own  parents?  Yea,  I 
saw  it  in  every  public  auction,  where  men  and  women 
and  children  were  brought  upon  the  block,  examined, 
and  bought.  I  saw  it  on  such  occasions,  in  the  hopeless 
agony  depicted  on  the  countenance  of  husband  and  wife, 
there  separated  to  meet  no  more  in  this  cruel  world  : 
and  in  the  screams  of  wild  despair  and  useless  entreaty 


XARRATIYB  Of  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE. 

which  the  mother,  then  deprived  of  her  darling  child, 
sent  forth.  I  heard  the  doom  which  stares  every  slave 
parent  in  the  face  each  waking  and  sleeping  hour  of 
an  unhappy  life.  And  yet  I  sought  to  become  a  hus 
band  and  a  father,  because  I  felt  that  I  could  live  no  long 
er  unloved  and  unloving.  I  was  married  to  Lucilla 
Smith,  the  slave  to  Mrs.  Moore.  We  called  it  and  we 
considered  it  a  true  marriage,  although  we  knew  well 
that  marriage  was  not  permitted  to  the  slaves  as  a 
sacred  right  of  the  loving  heart.  Lucilla  was  seven 
teen  years  old  when  we  were  married.  I  loved  her  with 
all  my  heart,  and  she  gave  me  a  return  for  my  affection 
with  which  I  was  contented.  Oh,  Qod  of  Love,  thou 
knowest  what  happy  hours  we  have  passed  in  each  other's 
society  in  our  poor  cabin.  When  we  knelt  in  prayer, 
we  never  forgot  to  ask  God  to  save  us  from  the  misery 
of  cruel  separation,  while  life  and  love  were  our  portion. 
Oh,  how  we  have  talked  of  this  dreadful  fate,  and  wept 
in  mingling  sorrow,  as  we  thought  of  our  desolation, 
if  we  should  be  parted  and  doomed  to  live  on  weary 
years,  away  from  each  other's  dear  presence.  We  had 
three  dear  little  babes,  Our  fondness  for  our  precious 
children  increased  the  current  feeling  of  love  for  each 
other,  which  filled  our  hearts.  They  were  bright,  pre 
cious  things,  those  little  babes  ;  at  least  so  they  seemed 
to  us.  Lucilla  and  I  were  never  tired  of  planning  to 
improve  their  condition,  as  far  as  might  be  done  for 
slaves.  We  prayed  with  new  fervency  to  our  Father 
in  Heaven  to  protect  our  precious  babes.  Lucilla  was 
very  proud  of  me,  because  I  could  read  and  write,  and 
she  often  spoke  of  my  teaching  our  dear  little  ones, 
and  then  she  would  say,  with  tears,  "  Who  knows,  Thom 
as,  but  they  may  yet  be  free  and  happy  ?"  Lucilla  was  a 
valuable  slave  to  her  mistress.  She  was  a  seamstress, 
and  very  expert  at  her  needle.  I  had  a  constant  dread 
that  Mrs.  Moore,  her  mistress,  would  be  in  want  of 
money,  and  sell  my  dear  wife.  We  constantly  dreaded 
a  final  separation.  Our  affection  for  each  other  was 
very  strong,  and  this  made  us  always  apprehensive  or" 
a  cruel  parting.  These  fears  were  well  founded,  as  our 


32  NARRATIVE    OP    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE. 

sorrowing  hearts  too  soon  learned.  A  few  years  of  very 
pure  and  constant  happiness,  for  slaves,  passed  away, 
.iiul  we  were  parted  to  meet  but  once  again  till  we  meet 
in  eternity.  Mrs.  Moore  left  Wilmington,  and  moved 
to  Newbern.  She  carried  with  her  my  beloved  Lucilla, 
and  iny  three  children,  Annie,  four  years  old  ;  Lizzie, 
twc  and  a  half  years  ;  and  our  sweet  little  babe,  Charlie. 
Sh  :  remained  there  eighteen  months.  And  oh,  how 
lonely  and  dreary  and  desponding  were  those  months 
of  lonely  life  to  my  crushed  heart  I  My  dear  wife  and 
my  precious  children  were  seventy-four  miles  distant 
from  me,  carried  away  from  me  in  utter  scorn  of  my 
beseeching  words.  I  was  tempted  to  put  an  end  to  my 
wretched  life.  I  thought  of  my  dear  family  by  day 
and  by  night.  A  deep  despair  was  in  my  heart,  such 
as  no  one  is  called  to  bear  in  such  cruel,  crushing 
power  as  the  poor  slave,  severed  forever  from  the  objects 
of  his  love,  by  the  cupidity  of  his  brother.  But  that 
dark  time  of  despair  passed  away,  and  I  saw  once  more 
my  wife  and  children.  Mrs.  Moore  left  Newbern  for 
Tuscaloosa,  Ala.,  and  passing  through  Wilmington  on 
her  journey,  she  spent  one  night  in  her  old  home.  That 
night  I  passed  with  my  wife  and  children.  Lucilla 
had  pined  away  under  the  agony  of  our  separation, 
even  more  than  I  had  done.  That  night  she  wept  on 
my  bosom,  and  we  mingled  bitter  tears  together.  Our 
dear  children  were  baptized  in  the  tears  of  agony 
that  were  wrung  from  our  breaking  hearts.  The  just 
God  remember  that  night  in  the  last  award  that  we 
and  our  oppressors  are  to  receive. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Moore  embarked  on  board 
the  packet.  I  followed  my  wife  and  children  to  the 
boat,  and  parted  from  them  without  a  word  of  farewell. 
Our  sobs  and  tears  were  our  only  adieu.  Our  hearts 
were  too  full  of  anguish  for  any  other  expression  of  our 
hopeless  woe.  I  have  never  seen  that  dear  family  since, 
nor  have  I  heard  from  them  since  I  parted  from  them 
there.  God  only  knows  the  bitterness  of  my  agony, 
experienced  in  the  separation  of  my  wife  and  children 
from  me.  The  memory  of  that  great  woe  will  find  a 


XAIUIAT1VE    OF    A    liKFUGEE    SLAVE.  33 

fresh  impression  on  my  heart  while  that  heart  shall 
heat.  How  will  the  gifted  and  the  great  meet  the 
charge  against  them  at  the  great  day,  as  the  Judge 
shall  say  to  them,  in  stern  displeasure,  "I  was  sick, 
destitute,  imprisoned,  helpless,  and  ye  ministered  not 
unto  me;  for  when  ye  slighted  and  despised  these 
wretched,  pleading  slaves,  ye  did  these  acts  of  scorn 
against  me.  Depart,  ye  workers  of  iniquity." 

After  my  purchase  hy  Owen  Holmes,  I  hired  my  time 
at  gloO  per  year,  paid  monthly.  I  rented  a  house  of 
Dr.  E.  J.  Desert.  1  worked,  loading  and  unloading  ves 
sels  that  camo  into  Wilmington,  and  could  earn  from 
one  dollar  to  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  day.  While  my 
wife  and  family  were  spared  to  bless  my  home  hy  their 
presence  and  love,  I  was  comparatively  happy.  But  I 
found  then  that  the  agony  of  the  terrible  thought,  "I 
am  a  slave,  my  wife  is  a  slave,  my  precious  children  are 
slaves,"  grew  bitter  and  insupportable,  just  as  the  hap 
piness  in  the  society  of  my  beloved  home  became  more 
distinct  and  abounding.  And  this  one  cup  of  bitterness 
was  ever  at  my  lips.  Hearts  of  kind  sympathy  and 
tender  pity,  did  I  not  drain  that  cup  of  bitter  woe  to 
its  very  dregs,  when  my  family  were  carried  off  into 
returnless  exile,  and  I  was  left  a  heartbroken,  lonely 
man  !  Can  you  be  still  inactive  while  thousands  are 
drinking  that  portion  of  despair  every  year  in  this  land 
of  schools  and  Bibles  ?  After  I  parted  from  my  family, 
I  continued  to  toil  on,  but  not  as  I  had  done  before. 
My  home  was  darker  than  the  holds  of  ships  in  which 
I  worked.  Its  light,  the  bright,  joyous  light  of  lovo 
and  sympathy  and  mutual  endearments,  was  quenched. 
Ah  me,  how  dark  it  left  my  poor  heart.  It  was  colder 
than  the  winter  wind  and  frost ;  the  warm  sunshine 
was  snatched  away,  and  my  poor  heart  froze  in  its 
bitter  cold.  Its  gloom  was  deeper  than  prison  or  cave 
could  make  it.  Was  not  there  the  deserted  chairs  and 
beds,  once  occupied  by  the  objects  of  a  husband's  and 
a  fathers  love?  Deserted!  How,  and  why?  The 
answer,  is  it  not  the  unqualified  condemnation  of  the 
government  and  religion  of  this  land  ?  I  could  not 


34  NARKATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE. 

go  into  my  cold,  dark,  cheerless  house  ;  the  sight  of 
its  deserted  room  was  despair  to  my  soul.  So  I  worked 
on,  taking  jobs  whenever  I  could  get  them,  and  work 
ing  often  till  nearly  morning,  and  never  going  to  my 
home  for  rest  till  1  could  toil  no  more.  And  so  1  passed 
four  years,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  I  could  not  live  in 
utter  loneliness  any  longer.  My  heart  was  still  and 
always  yearning  for  affection  and  sympathy  and  loving 
communion.  My  wife  was  torn  from  me.  I  had  ceased 
to  hope  for  anotlier  meeting  with  her  in  this  world  of 
oppression  and  suffering  ;  so  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
Lucilla,  that  I  could  live  alone  no  longer,  and  saying 
to  her  the  sad  farewell,  which  we  could  not  say  when 
we  were  sundered.  I  asked  Mary  R.  Moore  to  come 
and  cheer  me  in  my  desolate  home.  She  became  my 
wife,  and,  thank  God,  she  has  been  rescued  from  slavery 
by  the  blessing  of  God  and  my  efforts  to  save  her.  She 
is  now  my  wife,  and  she  is  with  me  to-day,  and  till 
death  parts  us,  secure  from  the  iron  hand  of  slavery. 
Three  of  our  dear  children  are  with  us,  too,  in  the 
old  Commonwealth.  I  cannot  say  they  are  in  a  free 
land,  for,  even  here,  in  the  city  of  Boston,  where  I  am 
told,  is  kept  the  old  cradle  of  liberty,  my  precious  chil 
dren  are  excluded  from  the  public  schools,  because  their 
skin  is  black.  Still,  Boston  is  better  than  Wilmington, 
inasmuch  as  the  rulers  of  this  place  permit  me  to  send 
my  children  to  any  school  at  all.  After  my  second 
marriage,  I  hired  my  wife  of  her  master,  and  paid  for 
her  time,  $43  a  year,  for  three  years.  We  had  one 
child  while  Mary  was  a  slave.  That  child  is  still  in 
chains.  The  fourth  year,  by  the  aid  of  a  white  friend, 
I  purchased  my  wife  for  $350.  We  had  before  deter 
mined  to  try  to  accomplish  this  enterprise,  in  order 
that  our  dear  babes  might  be  free.  Besides,  I  felt  that 
I  could  not  bear  another  cruel  separation  from  my  wife 
and  children.  Yet,  the  dread  of  it  was  strong  and 
unceasing  upon  my  mind.  So  we  made  a  box,  and, 
through  a  hole  in  the  top,  we  put  in  every  piece  of 
money,  from  five  cents  up  to  a  dollar,  that  we  could 
save  from  our  hard  earnings.  This  object  nerved  us 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  35 

for  unceasing  toil,  for  twenty  months,  or  about  that 
time.  What  hopes  and  fears  beset  us  as  those  months 
wore  away  !  1  have  been  compelled  to  hide  that  box 
in  a  hole  dug  for  it,  when  I  knew  the  patrollers  were 
coming  to  search  my  cabin.  For  well  did  1  know,  if 
they  found  my  box,  I  should  be  penniless  again.  How 
often  have  I  started  and  turned  in  sudden  and  terrible 
alarm,  as  I  have  dropped  a  piece  of  money  into  my 
box,  and  heard  its  loud  ring  upon  the  coin  below,  lest 
some  prowling  enemy  should  hear  it,  and  steal  from 
me  my  hoarded  treasure.  And  how  often  have  I  started 
up  in  my  sleep  as  the  storm  has  beat  aloud  upon  my 
humble  home,  with  the  cry  of  unspeakable  agony  in 
my  heart, — "  Then,  O  God,  they  have  taken  my  box, 
and  my  wife  and  babes  are  still  slaves."  When  my 
box  was  broken  open,  I  still  lacked  a  little  of  the  $350 
necessary  to  buy  my  wife.  The  kind  friend  who  had 
promised  to  aid  me  in  the  contemplated  purchase,  made 
up  the  deficiency,  and  I  became  the  owner  of  my  wife. 
We  had  three  children  at  this  time,  and,  0,  how  my 
crushed  heart  was  uplifted  in  its  pride  and  joy,  as  I 
took  them  in  my  arms  and  thought  that  they  were  not 
slaves.  These  three  children  are  with  me  and  with 
their  mother  now,  where  the  slave's  chains  and  whips 
are  heard  no  more.  Oh,  how  sweet  is  freedom  to  man! 
But  doubly  dear  is  the  consciousness  to  the  father's 
heart,  made  bitter  in  its  incurable  woe  by  the  degrada 
tion  of  slavery,  that  his  dear  child  is  never  to  be  a 
slave  !  Would  to  God  the  fathers  of  this  nation  were 
all  possessed  of  a  true  consciousness  of  these  things  ; 
for  then,  surely,  they  would  will  and  secure  the  im 
mediate  ending  of  human  bondage. 

After  I  had  purchased  my  wife,  we  still  worked  hard 
and  saved  our  earnings  with  great  care,  in  order  to  get 
some  property  in  hand  for  future  use.  As  I  saved  my 
earnings,  I  got  a  white  man  whom  I  thought  my  friend, 
(his  name  I  choose  to  keep  back  for  the  present,)  to  lay 
it  out  for  me.  In  this  way  I  became  the  owner  of  the 
cabin  in  which  I  lived,  and  two  other  small  houses,  all 
of  which  were  held  in  the  name  of  this  supposed  friend. 


•36  NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE. 

lie  hold  them  in  his  own  name  for  me.  A  slave  can 
not  hold  property.  I  will  here  remark  that  I  was  de 
ceived  by  this  man  ;  and  when  I  ran  away  from  my 
chains,  after  sending  on  my  family,  1  was  compelled  to 
sacrifice  the  whole  of  this  property.  I  left  it,  because  I 
could  not  get  my  own  from  his  hands,  and  came  off  en 
tirely  destitute.  Thank  God,  /got  away,  and  now  I 
have  no  tears  to  shed  over  the  loss  of  my  houses. 

During  the  winter  of  I  848-9.  a  kind  lady  came  and 
told  me  that  some  white  men  were  plotting  to  enslave 
my  wife  and  children  again.  She  advised  me  to  get 
them  otf  to  the  free  States  as  quickly  and  secretly  as 
possible.  A  lawyer  of  Wilmington  told  me  they  were 
not  safe,  unless  emancipated  by  a  special  act  of  the 
Legislature.  He  was  a  member  of  the  House,  and  tried 
to  get  through  the  House  a  bill  for  their  emancipation. 
But  there  was  so  much  ill  feeling  upon  this  question 
that  he  could  not  do  it.  The  Legislature  threw  it 
aside  at  once.  He  then  advised  me  to  get  them  off  to 
the  free  States  as  my  only  course  to  save  them.  This 
I  determined  to  do  if  possible.  I  kept  a  good  lookout 
for  a  vessel.  I  found  one,  and  made  a  bargain  with  the 
captain  to  take  on  board  for  New  York  a  free  colored 
woman  and  her  three  children.  A  kind  friend  gave 
me  a  certificate  of  their  freedorA  to  the  captain,  and 
I  brought  my  wife  and  children  on  board  at  night, 
paid  the  captain  $25  for  their  fare,  and  staid  on  the 
wharf  in  torturing  fear  till  about  sunrise,  when  I  saw 
the  vessel  under  way.  It  was  soon  out  of  sight. 
When  1  went  home,  1  threw  myself  on  my  knees,  and 
poured  out  my  soul  to  God,  to  carry  that  ship  and  its 
precious  cargo  safely  and  swiftly  on  to  a  free  haven, 
and  to  guard  and  guide  me  soon  to  a  free  home  with  iny 
beloved  family.  And  so  I  kept  on,  praying,  working, 
hoping,  pining,  for  nearly  three  weeks,  when  I  received 
the  happy  news  that  my  dear  ones  were  safe  with  a 
true-hearted  friend  in  Brooklyn.  I  had  notified  him 
beforehand  that  they  were  coming  ;  and  now  the  good 
and  glorious  news  came  that  they  were  safe  with  Rob 
ert  H.  Cousins,  where  the  slaveholders  could  trouble 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  37 

them  no  more.  I  had  arranged  with  Mary  when  she 
left,  to  come  on  myself  as  soon  as  I  could  get  the  money 
for  my  houses  and  land.  She  was  to  write  to  me  as 
though  she  had  gone  to  New  York  on  a  visit,  intending 
to  come  back,  and  she  was  to  speak  of  New  York  as  if 
she  did  not  like  it  at  all.  I  knew  my  master  would  be 
very  angry  when  he  heard  she  had  gone  unbeknown  to 
him,  and  I  thought  he  would  demand  to  seethe  letters 
my  wife  should  get  friends  in  New  Yrork  to  write  to 
me  for  her  ;  and  so  I  made  ready  to  meet  and  quiet  his 
suspicions,  while  I  was  plotting  my  own  escape.  For 
more  than  three  months  I  tried  to  get  the  money,  or 
part  of  it,  for  my  houses  ;  but  was  put  off  and  deceived, 
till  I  found  I  must  come  off  without  a  cent  of  the  prop 
erty  I  had  tried  so  hard  to  accumulate.  I  was  required 
to  call  and  see  my  master  every  day,  because  he  sus 
pected  me  of  design  to  run  away.  He  was  taken  sud 
denly  sick,  and  then  I  started  for  my  wife  and  children. 
Before  I  give  a  narrative  of  my  escape,  I  will  give  cop 
ies  of  the  letters  which  passed  between  me  and  my 
wife,  while  I  remained  in  the  land  of  bondage  after 
her  escape.  These  letters  with  their  post  marks,  are 
all  in  my  possession,  and  can  be  examined  by  any  one 
who  may  doubt  their  authenticity,  or  the  fidelity  with 
which  they  are  here  given.  The  kind  friend  who  has 
written  this  narrative  for  me,  has  corrected  some  mis 
takes  in  the  construction  and  spelling  of  these  letters, 
and  some  he  has  left  uncorrected.  He  has  also  omitted 
some  repetitions ;  otherwise  they  are  given  as  exact 
copies.  I  wrote  my  own  letters ;  my  wife  wrote  by 
the  help  of  a  friend.  I  give  all  my  letters,  and  the 
two  from  my  wife  which  I  was  able  to  keep.  The  fol 
lowing  was  written  soon  after  my  wife  started  for  New 
York. 

Wilmington,  N.  C.,  July  11,  1849. 
MY  DEAR  WIFE — I  write  these  few  lines  to  inform 
you  that  I  am  well,  and  hope  they  may  find  you  and 
the  children  well,  and  all  the  friends.  My  dear  wife, 
I  long  to  see  you  and  the  children  one  time  more  in 
this  world.  I  hope  to  see  you  all  soon.  Don't  get 


38  NARRATIVE    OF    A    HEl'l.'OI'      SLAVE. 

out  of  heart,  for  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  hope 
it  will  not  be  long,  for  God  will  be  ray  helper,  and  1 
feel  he  will  help  me.  My  dear  wife,  you  must  pray 
for  me,  that  God  may  help  me.  Tell  John  he  must  be 
a  good  boy  till  I  see  him.  I  must  not  forget  sister 
Chavis.  She  must  pray  for  me,  that  God  may  help  me 
come  out.  Tell  her  I  say  that  she  must  be  faithful  to 
God  ;  and  I  hope  dear  wife,  you  will  be  faithful  to  God. 
Tell  sister  Chavis  that  Henry  will  be  out  soon,  and  he 
wants  her  keep  a  good  heart  and  he  will  send  money 
out  to  her.  Tell  her  he  says  she  must  write  to  him 
as  soon  as  she  can,  for  he  will  not  stay  long  behind  her. 
As  soon  as  he  gets  his  money  he  will  come.  I  hope  to 
see  you  all  very  soon.  Tell  my  Brothering  to  pray  for 
me,  that  God  may  help  ine  to  get  there  safe  and  make 
my  way  clear  before  me.  Help  me  by  your  prayers, 
that  God  may  be  with  me.  Tell  Brother  Ilobert  H. 
Cousins  that  he  must  pray  for  me  ;  for  I  long  to  meet 
him  one  time  more  in  this  world.  Sister  Tucker  and 
husband  give  their  love  to  you  and  Sister  Chavis,  and 
say  that  you  must  pray  for  them.  Dear  wife,  you 
may  look  for  me  soon.  But  what  way  I  will  come,!  can't 
tell  you  now.  You  may  look  for  me  in  three  weeks 
from  now.  You  must  try  and  do  the  best  you  can  till 
I  come.  You  know  how  it  is  with  me,  and  how  I  have 
to  come.  Tell  the  Church  to  pray  for  me,  for  I  hope 
to  reach  that  land  if  I  live,  and  I  want  the  prayers  of 
all  God's  children.  I  can't  say  any  more  at  this  time ; 
but,  I  remain  your  dear  husband,  till  death, 

THOMAS  JONES. 

P.  S. — Dear  wife,  I  want  you  to  make  out  that  you 
don't  like  Iflew  York.  When  you  write  to  me  you 
must  say  so.  Do  mind  tow  you  write. 

The  next  letter  was  written  before  I  had  received  any 
certain  intelligence  of  nay  wife's  arrival  at  New  York. 

Wilmington,  N.  C.,  July  17,  1849. 
MY  DEAR  WIFE — I  write  to  tell  you  I  am  well,  and  I 
hope  these  few  lines  will  find  yon  and  the  children  well. 
1  long  to  see  you  all  one  time  more.     Do  pray  for  me, 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.         39 

that  God  may  help  mo  to  get  to  you  all.  Do  ask 
sister  to  pray  the  Lord  to  help  me.  I  will  trust  in 
God,  for  I  know  that  He  is  my  friend,  and  He  will 
help  me.  My  dear  wife,  tell  my  children  I  say  they 
must  he  good  till  I  sec  them  once  more.  Do  give  my 
love  to  Brother  R.  H.  Cousins,  and  tell  him  I  hope  to 
meet  him  in  two  or  three  weeks  from  now.  Then  I 
can  tell  him  all  I  want  to  say  to  him.  Tell  Sister 
Chavis  I  say,  do  not  come  back  to  this  place  till  I 
come.  Her  husband  say  he  want  her  to  stay,  and  he 
will  come  on  soon.  My  dear  wife,  I  want  you  to  do 
the  best  you  can  till  I  come.  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I 
can.  You  and  sister  Chavis  must  live  together,  for 
you  went  together,  and  you  must  try  to  stay  together. 
Do  give  my  love  to  sister  Johnston  and  husband,  and 
all  of  my  friends.  Ask  them  all  to  pray  for  me,  that 
God  may  be  with  me  in  all  that  I  do  to  meet  you  all 
one  time  more.  My  dear  wife,  you  know  how  I  told 
you,  you  must  mind  how  you  write  your  letters.  You 
must  not  forget  to  write  as  if  you  did  not  like  New  York, 
and  that  you  will  come  home  soon.  You  know  what 
I  told  you  to  do,  and  now  you  must  not  forget  it,  when 
you  write.  I  will  send  you  some  money  in  my  next 
letter.  I  have  not  sold  my  houses  yet,  and  if  I  can't 
sell,  I  will  leave  them  all,  and  come  to  you  and  the 
children.  I  will  trust  in  that  God  who  can  help  the 
poor.  My  dear,  don't  forget  what  I  told  you  to  do 
when  you  write.  You  know  how  I  have  to  do.  Be 
careful  how  you  write.  I  hope  to  be  with  you  soon,  by 
the  help  of  God.  But,  above  all  things,  ask  all  to  pray 
for  me,  that  God  may  open  the  way  for  me  to  come 
safe.  I  hope  to  be  with  you  soon  by  the  help  of  the 
Lord.  Tell  them  if  I  never  come,  to  go  on,  and  may 
God  help  them  to  go  forth  to  glorious  war.  Tell  them 
to  see  on  the  mountain  top  the  standard  of  God.  Tell 
them  to  follow  their  Captain,  and  be  led  to  certain  vic 
tory.  Tell  them  I  can  but  sing  with  my  latest  breath 
happy,  if  I  may  to  the  last  speak  His  name,  preach 
Him  to  all,  and  cry,  in  death,  "  Behold  the  Lamb."  Go 
on,  my  dear  wife,  and  trust  in  God  for  all  things.  1 
remain  your  husband,  THOMAS  JONES. 


40  XAIIUATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE. 

Before-  I  wrote  the  next,  I  received  the  happy  news 
that  my  wife  was  safe  with  Brother  Cousins. 

Wilmington,  N.  C.,  July  25,  1849. 

My  LEAR  WIFE — Do  tell  my  children  they  must  he 
good  children  till  I  come  to  them  ;  and  you,  my  dear 
wife,  must  do  the  best  you  can  ;  for  I  don't  know  how 
I  will  come,  but  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you.  I  hope 
God  will  help  me,  for,  if  lie  don't,  I  don't  know  what 
1  will  do.  My  dear  wife,  I  have  not  sold  my  houses  yet, 
but.  I  will  do  the  best  I  can.  If  I  had  money,  I  would 
leave  all  I  have  and  come,  for  I  know  the  Lord  will 
help  me.  It  is  for  want  of  money  that  I  can't  come. 
But  I  hope,  my  dear  wife,  the  Lord  will  help  me  out. 
Tell  Brother  Cousins  I  hope  he  and  all  the  people  of 
God  will  pray  for  me  ;  and  you,  my  dear  wife,  must  not 
forget  to  pray  for  me.  Ask  Brother  Cousins,  if  he 
pleases,  to  put  my  children  to  some  s'chool.  Dear  wife, 
you  know  the  white  people  will  read  your  letters  to  me  ; 
do  mind  how  you  write.  No  one  but  God  knows  my 
heart.  Do  pray  for  me.  I  remain  your  husband  till 
deatk  THOMAS  JONES. 

P.  S. — My  dear  wife,  I  received  your  letter  the  24th  of 
July,  and  was  truly  glad  to  hear  you  arrived  safe  in 
New  York.  Please  tell  Brother  Cousins  I  will  write  to 
him  in  a  few  days,  and  I  will  send  you  some  money. 
My  dear  wife  do  mind  how  you  write.  You  must  not 
forget  I  am  in  a  slave  place,  and  I  can't  buy  myself  for 
the  money.  You  know  how  it  is,  and  you  must  tell 
brother  Cousins.  I  have  not  sold  yet,  but  if  I  can't 
sell,  I  will  come  some  how,  by  the  help  of  the  Lord. 
John  Holmes  is  still  in  my  way.  I  want  you  to  write 
a  letter  and  say  in  it,  that  you  will  be  home  in  two 
months,  so  I  can  let  them  read  it,  for  they  think  I  will 
run  away  and  come  to  you.  So  do  mind  how  you  write 
for  the  Lord's  sake.  THOMAS  JONES. 

The  next  letter  was  written  to  Sister  Chavis,  who 
went  on  to  New  York,  but  got  disheartened  and  came 
back  to  Wilmington. 


NARRATIVE    01    A    EEFUOEE    SLAVE.  41 

Wilmington,  N.  0.,  Aug.  4,  18tf). 

My  DEAR  SISTER— I  hope  to  sco  you  in  a  few  days, 
and  all  my  friends.  I  hope,  dear  sister,  you  will  not 
forget  to  pray  for  me,  for,  by  the  help  of  God,  I  will 
see  you  in  a  few  days.  Your  husband  is  coming  on 
soon,  but  I  will  be  on  before  him.  I  would  have  been 
on  before  now,  but  I  could  not  get  my  money.  I  have 
had  a  hard  time  to  get  money  to  leave  with.  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  that  you  think  we  can't  get  a  living 
where  you  are.  My  dear  sister,  a  smart  man  can  get 
a  living  anywhere  in  the  world  if  he  try.  Don't  think 
we  can't  live  out  there,  for  I  know  God  will  help  us. 
You  know  God  has  promised  a  living  to  all  His  children. 
Don't  forget  that  God  is  ever  present,  for  we  must 
trust  Him  till  death.  Don't  get  out  of  heart,  for  I 
know  we  can  live  out  there,  if  any  one  can.  You  may 
look  for  me  before  your  husband.  Don't  leave  New 
York  before  I  come,  for  you  know  what  I  told  you 
before  you  left  Wilmington.  If  you  come  back  to  this 
place  before  I  get  off,  it  will  make  it  bad  for  me.  You 
know  what  the  white  people  here  are.  Please  don't 
come  yet.  I  am  your  brother  in  the  Lord,  till  death. 

THOMAS  JONES. 

P.  S. — I  sent  the  letter  you  wrote  to  Mr.  John  lianks. 
I  thought  you  will  wait  for  a  letter  from  your  husband, 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  better  satisfied  in  your  mind 
that  we  can  get  a  living  out  there.  Your  husband  has 
wrote  to  you  last  week  ;  I  hope  you  have  got  the  letter. 
Oh,  that  you  may  trust  in  God  every  day,  for  I  know 
God  is  your  friend,  ami  you  must  pray  night  and  day, 
that  He  may  help  you.  I  long  to  se.e  you  one  time 
more  in  this  world.  We  went  into  the  new  Church  on 
the  Oth  day  of  this  month.  God  was  with  us  on  that 
day,  and  we  had  a  good  time.  Though  my  time  with 
them  is  short,  I  hope  God  will  be  with  them,  and  may 
we  all  meevt  in  the  kingdom  at  last.  So  pray  for  me, 
my  dear  sister.  Aunt  Narvey  has  been  dead  nearly 
four  weeks.  She  died  happy  in  the  Lord,  and  is  gone 
home  to  rest.  I  hope  we  may  meet  in  the  kingdom  at 
last.  Good  night,  my  dear  sister.  THOMAS  JONES. 
4* 


42  NAHUHTIVii    OF    A    11LFUU1K    SLAVE. 

The  next  letter  is  to  my  wife  and  Brother  Cousins, 
and  explains  itself. 

Wilmington,  August  7,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  WIFE — I  long  io  see  you  once  more  in  this 
world,  and  I  hope  it  will  not  be  very  long  before  I  am 
with  you.  I  am  trying,  my  dear  wife,  to  do  all  I  ean 
to  get  to  you.  But  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  to  mind 
how  you  write  to  me.  If  you  should  not  mind  how 
you  write,  you  will  do  me  great  harm.  You  know  I 
told  you  to  write  that  you  would  be  home  in  two  months, 
or  three  months  at  the  longest.  But  in  two  months  I 
told  them  you  would  be  home.  Now,  my  dear,  you 
must  mind,  and  don't  forget,  for  you  know  how  it  is 
here  ;  a  man  can't  say  that  his  soul  is  his  own,  that  is, 
a  colored  man.  So  do  mind  how  you  write  tome.  Tell 
Sister  Chavis  I  say  she  must  write  to  me  ;  and  I  hope 
soon  I  will  write  my  last  letter.  I  will  let  you  know 
in  my  next  letter  how  all  things  are  with  me.  Dear 
wife,  don't  get  out  of  heart,  for  God  is  my  friend.  The 
will  of  God  is  my  sure  defence,  nor  earth,  nor  hell  can 
pluck  me  thence,  for  God  hath  spoken  the  word.  My 
dear  wife,  in  reply  to  your  kind  letter,  received  the 
second  day  of  this  month,  I  have  wrote  these  few  lines. 
I  hope  you  will  pray  for  me,  your  dear  husband, 

THOMAS  JONES. 

P.  S. — To  Brother  Cousins. — My  dear  Brother,  1  hope 
you  will  not  think  hard  of  me  for  not  writing  to  you, 
for  you  know  how  it  is  with  me  out  here.  God  knows 
that  I  would  write  to  you  at  any  time,  if  it  was  not  for 
some  things.  You  know  the  white  people  don't  like  for 
us  to  write  to  New  York.  Now,  let  me  ask  your  prayers, 
and  the  prayers  of  the  Church,  and  God's  children,  that 
I  may  see  you  all  soon.  I  know  that  God  is  my  friend, 
for  He  doth  my  burden  bear.  Though  I  am  but  dust 
and  ashes,  I  bless  God,  and  often  feel  the  power  of  God. 
Oh,  my  brother,  pray  for  me,  who  loves  you  all,  for  I 
have  found  of  late  much  comfort  in  tho  word  of  God's 
love.  When  I  come  where  you  are,  in  the  work  of  the 
Lord,  and  I  hope  the  time  will  soon  come,  when  the 
Gospel  will  be  preached  to  the  whole  world  of  mankind. 


NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE.  43 

Then  go  on,  dear  brother,  and  do  all  you  can  for  the 
Lord.  I  hope  the  Lord  will  help  me  to  get  where  you 
are  at  work  soon,  Nothing  more,  but  1  remain  your 
brother  in  the  Lord,  THOMAS  JONES. 

The  next  is  from  my  wife. 

Brooklyn,  Aug.  10,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND — I  got  your  kind  letter  of  the 
23d  July,  and  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  was  well.  I 
have  been  very  sick  myself,  and  so  has  Alexander  ;  but, 
thanks  to  the  Lord,  these  lines  leave  me  and  the  chil 
dren  right  well.  1  hope  in  God  they  may  find  you  and 
my  son  and  my  mother,  and  all  enquiring  friends, 
enjoying  the  same  blessings.  My  dear,  you  requested 
me  and  Mrs  Chavis  to  stay  together;  but  she  has  taken 
other  people's  advice,  beside  mine  and  Mr.  Cousin's, 
and  has  gone  away.  She  started  for  home  before  we 
knew  a  word  of  it.  She  left  me  on  the  8th  of  this 
month.  Do  give  my  love  to  Betsey  Webb  and  to  her 
husband.  Tell  her  I  am  sorry  she  lias  not  come  on 
before  now.  I  am  waiting  to  see  her  before  1  start  for 
home.  My  dear  husband,  you  know  you  ought  to  send 
me  some  money  to  pay  my  board.  You  know  I  don't 
love  to  leave  in  this  way  with  my  children.  It  is  true 
that  Brother  Cousins  has  not  said  anything  to  me  about 
it.  You  keep  writing  that  you  are  going  to  send  it  in 
your  next  letter  ;  you  know  I  love  to  act  independent, 
and  I  wish  you  to  help  me  to  do  so  now  if  you.  please. 
Do  give  my  compliments  to  aunt  Moore,  and  tell  her 
the  children  all  send  their  love  to  her.  They  send 
their  love  to  you  and  say  they  want  to  kiss  you  mighty 
bad.  The  children  send  their  love  to  brother  Edward. 
I  long  to  see  you,  husband.  No  more  at  present,  but 
remain  your  loving  wife,  till  death. 

RYNAR  JONES. 

The  next  letter  is  in  answer  to  the  letter  from  my 
wife,  given  above. 

Wilmington,  N.  C.,  Aug.  12,  1849. 
MY  DEAR  WIFE — I  received  your  paper  of  the  10th 
to-day.     I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  well,  and  the 


44  XARRATlVK    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE, 

children  and  friends.  I  have  written  to  brother  Cousins, 
and  told  him  to  tell  you  that  I  had  not  sold  out  yet. 
But  I  hope  to  sell  in  a  lew  days,  and  then  I  will  send 
you  some  money.  My  dear  wife,  you  know  that  i  will 
do  all  I  can  for  you  and  for  my  children,  and  that  with 
all  my  heart.  Do,  try  and  wait  on  me  a  few  days,  and 
I  hope  you  will  see  me  and  the  money  too.  I  am  trying 
to  do  all  I  can  to  sell  one,  but  you  know  how  it  is  here, 
and  so  does  Brother  Cousins.  I  will  do  all  I  know,  for 
I  think  of  you,  my  dear  wife,  and  the  children,  day  and 
night.  If  I  can  get  my  money,  I  will  see  you  soon,  by 
the  help  of  God  and  my  good  friend,  and  that  is  a  wo 
man  ;  she  is  waiting  for  me  to  come  every  day.  My 
dear  wife,  all  I  want  is  money  and  your  prayers,  and  the 
prayers  of  my  friends.  I  know  that  God  will  help  me 
out  of  my  trouble  ;  I  know  that  God  is  my  friend,  and  I 
will  trust  in  Him.  You  wrote  to  me  that  Mrs.  Chavis 
left  New  York.  She  has  not  got  home  yet.  I  hope, 
dear  wife,  that  you  have  done  all  your  part  for  her.  Do 
give  my  love  to  Brother  Cousins  ;  ask  him  to  pray  for 
me,  and  all  God's  people  to  pray  for  me,  a  poor  slave 
at  this  time.  My  dear  wife,  since  I  wrote  last,  I  have 
seen  much  of  the  goodness  of  the  Lord.  Pray  for  me, 
that  I  may  see  more,  and  that  I  may  trust  in<  Him.  My 
dear  wife,  I  want  you  should  pray  for  me  day  and  night, 
till  you  see  me.  For  by  the  help  of  God,  I  will  see  you 
all  soon.  I  do  think  now  it  will  be  but  a  few  days. 
Do  give  my  love  to  my  children,  and  tell  them  that  I 
want  to  kiss  them  all.  Good  night,  my  dear,  I  must 
go  to  bed,  it  is  one  o'clock  at  night,  and  I  have  a  pain 
in  my  head  at  this  time.  Do  tell  Brother  Cousins  that 
I  say  he  must  look  out  for  me,  on  John  street,  in  a  few 
days.  Nothing  more,  but  I  remain  your  husband  till 
death.  THOMAS  JONES. 

Letter  from  my  wife. 

Brooklyn,  August  23,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND — It  is  with  the  affectionate  feel 
ing  of  a  wife  I  received  your  letter  of  the  H)th  inst. 
It  found  me  and  the  children  well,  and  we  were  glad 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  45 

to  hear  that  you  was  well.  But  I  feel  very  sorry  you 
have  not  sold  out  yet ;  I  was  in  hopes  you  would  have 
sold  by  the  time  you  promised,  before  I  got  home. 
Your  letter  found  Mr.  Cousins  and  his  wife  very  sick. 
Mr.  C.  has  not  been  out  of  the  house  going  on  two 
weeks.  He  was  taken  by  this  sickness,  so  common, 
which  carries  so  many  people  off,  but,  by  the  help  of 
God  and  good  attendance,  he  is  much  on  the  mend,  and 
his  wife  also.  You  ask  how  much  I  pay  for  board.  It 
is  three  dollars  a  week  for  myself  and  children.  In 
all  the  letters  you  have  written  to  me,  you  don't  say 
a  word  of  mother  or  Edward.  It  makes  me  feel  bad 
not  to  hear  from  them.  Husband,  I  have  not  paid  Mr. 
Cousins  any  board,  and  am  waiting  for  you  to  send  me 
some  money.  I  will  pray  for  you  hourly,  publicly  and 
privately,  and  beseech  the  Almighty  God,  till  I  see  you 
again.  I  shall  trust  in  God  ;  He  will  do  all  things  for 
the  best.  I  am  yours  till  death  do  us  part, 

RYNAK  JOKES. 

Last  letter  to  my  wife  from  the  land  of  bondage. 
Wilmington,  N.  C.,  Aug.  30,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  WIFE — I  have  been  quite  sick  for  three 
weeks,  but,  thank  God,  I  am  better  at  this  time,  and 
hope  these  few  lines  will  find  you  and  the  children  all 
well.  I  hope,  my  dear  wife,  that  you  have  not  got  out 
of  heart  looking  for  me ;  you  know  how  it  is  here  ;  I 
did  think  I  would  have  got  my  money  here  before  this 
time.  But  I  can't  get  it,  and  I  will  leave  all  and  come 
to  you  as  soon  as  I  can.  So  don't  get  out  of  heart,  my 
dear  wife ;  I  have  a  hard  trial  here  ;  do  pray  for  me 
that  the  Lord  may  help  me  to  see  you  all  soon.  I 
think  of  you  day  and  night,  and  my  dear  children,  kiss 
them  for  me ;  I  hope  to  kiss  them  soon.  Edward  is 
sold  to  Owen  Holmes  ;  but  I  think  Mr.  Josh.  Wright 
will  get  him  from  H.  I  have  done  all  I  could  for  Ed 
ward.  Don't  think  of  coming  back  here,  for  I  will 
come  to  you  or  die  But  T  want  you  should  write  one 
more  letter  to  me,  and  say  you  will  be  home  in  a  month. 
Mr.  Dawson  will  be  on  to  New  York  next  week,  and  you 


46         NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE. 

will  see  him  ;  mind  how  you  talk  before  him,  for  you 
know  how  it  is,  though  he  is  a  friend  to  me.  Now, 
you  must  mind  what  I  tell  you,  my  dear  wife,  for,  if 
you  don't,  you  will  make  it  hard  for  me.  Now,  my 
dear  wife,  you  must  not  come  hack  here  for  your  brother 
and  sister  ;  they  talk  too  much  ;  but  mind  what  I  say 
to  you,  for  you  know  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you  ;  you 
must  not  think  that  you  will  not  get  any  money,  for 
you  shall  have  it  soon.  Don't  get  out  of  heart,  my 
dear  wife ;  T  hope  I  shall  see  you  soon.  Nothing  more, 
but  I  remain  your  husband  till  death, 

THOMAS  JONES. 

Soon  after  despatching  this  letter,  I  bargained,  while 
my  master  lay  sick,  with  the  steward  of  the  Brig  Bell, 
to  stow  me  away  in  the  hold  of  the  ship,  and  take  me 
on  to  New  York.  I  paid  him  eight  dollars,  which  was 
all  the  money  I  then  had  or  could  get.  I  went  into  the 
hold,  with  an  allowance  of  biscuit  and  water,  and  the 
ship  started.  She  was  loaded  with  turpentine  and  I 
found  on  the  second  day,  that  I  could  not  live  out  the 
passage  there.  So  I  told  the  steward,  and  he  took  me 
out  in  a  state  of  great  weakness,  and  stowed  me  away 
in  one  of  the  state  rooms.  Here  I  was  discovered  by 
the  captain.  He  charged  me  with  being  a  runaway 
slave,  and  said  he  should  send  me  back  by  the  first  op 
portunity  that  offered.  That  day  a  severe  storm  came 
on,  and  for  several  days  we  were  driven  by  the  gale. 
I  turned  to  and  cooked  for  the  crew.  The  storm  was 
followed  by  a  calm  of  several  days  ;  and  when  the  wind 
sprung  up  again,  and  the  captain  made  for  port  at  once. 
I  had  reason  to  suspect,  from  the  manner  in  which  I 
was  guarded,  after  the  ship  came  to  anchor  off  New 
York,  that  the  captain  was  plotting  to  send  me  back. 
I  resolved  to  peril  life  in  a  last  effort  to  get  on  shore. 
So,  while  the  captain  was  in  the  city,  and  the  mate  was 
busy  in  the  cabin,  mending  his  clothes,  I  made  a  raft 
of  such  loose  barrels  as  I  could  get,  and  hastily  bound 
them  together,  and,  committing  myself  to  God,  I 
launched  forth  upon  the  waves.  The  shore  was  about 


NARRATIVE    OF    A    REFUGEE    SLAVE.  47 

a  mile  distant ;  I  had  the  tide  in  my  favor,  and  with 
its  help,  I  had  paddled  one  fourth  the  distance,  when 
the  mate  of  the  Bell  discovered  my  escape,  and  made 
after  me  in  the  hoat.  I  waved  my  old  hat  for  help, 
and  a  boat,  which  seemed  to  be  coming  round,  not  far 
from  me,  came  to  my  rescue.  I  was  taken  on  board. 
They  asked  me  if  I  was  a  slave,  and  told  me  not  to 
fear  to  tell  the  truth,  for  I  was  with  friends,  and  they 
would  protect  me.  I  told  them  ray  circumstances  just 
as  they  were.  They  were  as  good  as  their  word.  When 
the  mate  came  up  they  ordered  him  to  keep  off,  and 
told  him  they  would  prosecute  him  if  he  touched  me. 
They  took  me  to  Brother  Cousins,  and  gave  me  a  little 
money  and  some  clothes  in  addition  to  all  their  other 
kindness. 

The  meeting  with  my  wife  and  children  I  cannot 
describe.  It  was  a  moment  of  joy  too  deep  and  holy 
for  any  attempt  to  paint  it.  Husbands  who  love  as  I 
have  loved,  and  fathers  with  hearts  of  fond,  devoted 
affection,  may  imagine  the  scene,  and  my  feelings,  as 
my  dear  wife  lay  sobbing  in  her  joy  in  my  arms,  and 
my  three  dear  little  babes  were  clinging  to  my  knees, 
crying,  "Pa  has  come:  Pa  has  come."  It  was  the 
happy  hour  of  my  life.  I  then  felt  repaid  for  all  my 
troubles  and  toils  to  secure  the  freedom  of  my  family 
and  my  own.  0  God,  would  that  my  other  dear  ones 
were  here,  too.  God  in  mercy  speed  the  day  when 
right  shall  over  might  prevail,  and  all  the  down-trod 
den  sons  and  daughters  of  toil  and  want  shall  be  free 
and  pious  and  happy. 

I  have  but  little  more  now  to  say.  The  Sabbath 
after  my  arrival  in  Brooklyn,  I  preached  in  the  morning 
in  the  Bethel ;  I  then  came  on  to  Hartford.  A  gentle 
man  kindly  paid  my  passage  to  that  place,  and  sent 
me  an  introduction  to  a  true-hearted  friend.  I  staid  in 
Hartford  twenty-four  hours ;  but  finding  I  was  pursued, 
and  being  informed  that  I  should  be  safer  in  Massachu 
setts  than  in  Connecticut,  I  came  on  to  Springfield,  and 
from  thence  to  Boston,  where  I  arrived  penniless  and 
friendless,  the  7th  of  October.  A  generous  friend  took 


48         NARRATIVE  OF  A  REFUGEE  SLAVE. 

me,  though  a  stranger,  in,  and  foil  and  cheered  me. 
He  loaned  me  five  dollars  to  get  my  dear  family  to 
Boston.  He  helped  me  to  get  a  chance  to  lecture  in 
May  Street  Church,  where  I  received  a  contribution  of 
$2.5$  ;  also,  in  the  Sion  Church,  where  I  obtained 
§2,38  ;  and  in  the  Bethel  Church,  where  they  gave  me 
$3.53.  And  so  I  was  enabled  to  get  my  family  to 
Boston.  Entirely  destitute,  without  employment,  I 
now  met  with  a  kind  friend  who  took  me  with  him  to 
Danvers.  I  lectured  and  preached  in  the  Free  Evan 
gelical  Church,  and  received  most  generous  and  oppor 
tune  aid.  They  gave  me  ten  dollars,  and  by  their 
kindness,  they  lifted  up  a  sinking  brother.  The  next 
Sabbath  evening  I  lectured  in  the  Wesleyan  Church 
in  Boston,  and  received  a  contribution  of  $3.33.  Dur 
ing  the  week  following,  I  was  assisted  by  the  pastor 
of  this  Church,  and  by  several  individual  members. 
The  next  Sabbath,  I  spent  with  Brother  Flanders,  of 
Exeter,  N.  H.  He  gave  me  a  brother's  warm  welcome. 
I  preached  for  him  in  the  Wesleyan  Church,  of  which 
he  is  pastor,  in  the  morning,  and  lectured  in  the  evening 
to  a  full  and  attentive  house.  Here  I  received  a  gen 
erous  contribution  of  nearly  ten  dollars.  To-morrow 
is  Thanksgiving  Day.  God  will  know,  and  He  alone 
can  know,  the  deep  and  fervent  gratitude  and  joy  with 
which  I  shall  keep  it,  as  I  gather  my  friends,  my  dear 
family,  around  me  to  celebrate  the  unspeakable  good 
ness  of  God  to  me,  and  to  speak,  with  swelling  hearts, 
of  the  kindness  of  the  dear  friends  who  have  poured 
upon  our  sadness  and  fears  the  sunlight  of  sympathy, 
love  and  generous  aid.  May  the  blessing  of  Heaven 
rest  down  now  and  forever  upon  them,  is  the  prayer 
of  their  grateful  brother,  and  of  his  dear  family,  by 
their  kindness  saved  from  pinching  want. 

THOMAS  H.  JONES. 


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